


For God Is Ineffable in Her Love.

by Salenya



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anathema Device Ships Aziraphale/Crowley, Angel Sexuality (Good Omens), Angel Wings, Angel/Demon Relationship, Angel/Demon Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Body Worship, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Created the Stars (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Kids (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Outer Space (Good Omens), Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Crowley's Eyes (Good Omens), Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Crowley's Hiss (Good Omens), Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), Crowley's Sunglasses (Good Omens), Crowley's True Form (Good Omens), Crowley's Wrestling Statue (Good Omens), Declarations Of Love, Demisexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demisexual Crowley (Good Omens), Demisexuality, Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Drinking, Drinking & Talking, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Food-Lover Aziraphale (Good Omens), Forbidden Love, Gabriel Swears (Good Omens), Gay Sex, Gen, Genderswap, God Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Honeymoon, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Making Out in the Bentley (Good Omens), Male Homosexuality, Marriage Proposal, Mayfair Flat, Multiple Orgasms, NSFW, Nesting, No Refractory Period, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Trial (Good Omens), Praise Kink, Pregnant Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pregnant Sex, Protective Crowley, References to Shakespeare, Same-Sex Marriage, Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Sex in a Car, Sex in the Bentley (Good Omens), Shakespeare Quotations, She/Her Pronouns For God (Good Omens), Shower Sex, Smut, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), St James's Park (Good Omens), Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens), The Great Plan (Good Omens), The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Sex, Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens), Virgin Crowley (Good Omens), Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Witchcraft, Witches, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-01-21 01:57:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 272,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21291752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salenya/pseuds/Salenya
Summary: Hours after the Apocalypse is thwarted Crowley and Aziraphale know their time is running out.(I intend for this to be a very long series. So, buckle up and crank some Queen.)
Relationships: Anathema Device & Newton Pulsifer, Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Comments: 837
Kudos: 718
Collections: Tip Top Stories





	1. Words Yet Unspoken

Tadfield

Saturday 24 August 2019  
9:13 pm  
Hours after the apocalypse.

Two celestial beings sit on a bench near a small quaint church, in an equally small village outside of Oxfordshire called Tadfield. It is a lovely night. Far more pleasant than it has any right to be after such events previously averted that day. They are both quite thankful for this brief moment to gather their thoughts. An excellent bottle of Chateauneuf-du-pape had been conjured for a quiet celebration. Both relieved to be sitting together. No longer needing to hide their friendship. Yet utterly terrified of what the morning will bring.

‘The traitor Crowley.’ Thought the demon. 'Traitor to be sure. I betrayed them 6,000 years ago. Be it on their heads for never bothering to notice. Cat’s out of the bag as it were. 'Part of him was relieved. It was all a bit dizzying. The past week, no, eleven years, had been incredibly exhausting. If it weren’t for the knowledge that his head office would be out for blood, he might have slipped into sleep right there.

Aziraphale, for his part, tried to mute the voice in his head that demanded he begs for heaven’s forgiveness. 'Gabriel will not take this lying down.' On the outside, the archangel is composed and meticulous. Aziraphale knew; however, he did not like to be made to play the fool. There would be divine retribution, savage as any beast on its prey. One he hoped would spare his dearest friend. He loved his demon; it was unangelic to love selfishly. He should love all god’s creatures alike. His love for Crowley was far more than anything he had words to describe. The past eleven years was the most wonderful, terrible time in the entirety of his existence. And even as things stood now, so uncertain, they had each other.

The angel is the first to break the silence that had settled between them. “It all worked out for the best.” he looked at Crowley sheepishly. “Just imagine how awful it might have been if we’d been at all competent.” He says feeling a bit bashful about the whole matter. He had never been particularly good at his job. Though somehow things always seemed to turn out all right in the end. He would attribute this to his demonic companion. Always there, even when he was being a right shit. He made a mental note to apologise for his deplorable behaviour over the past...well 6000 years. Crowley is kind, not that he wanted to hear. And infinitely patient with Aziraphale. Even when the angel was anything but in return. He loved Crowley, and he had treated him so unfairly. Aziraphale wants to reach out to him. Tell him how he loves him. ‘Would Crowley even accept after everything I said?’

“Uugh...Point taken.” Crowley, for his part, couldn’t argue the angel’s logic. He could, though at the current moment he wasn’t feeling particularly argumentative. Aziraphale was safe, for the time being, sitting beside him. The Apocalypse was thwarted. More due to a pack of preteens than anything they had done. Crowley looked to a scrap of charred paper the angel was fussing with. “What’s that?”

“It fell out of Agnes Nutter’s book,” Aziraphale said, passing the paper to his companion.

Crowley read the last line aloud. “For soon enough, you will be playing with fire.” The bookshop flashed in his mind’s eye. Flames consuming everything, all of Aziraphale’s treasures. It made him feel sick if a demon could feel such. It boiled in his stomach, threatening to choke him. The emptiness he felt after discovering the inferno, thinking his friend lost, drove him nearly mad. ‘What is anything worth without Aziraphale?’ Then he was back, and that was all he needed. He would slit reality and tear it down for his angel. ‘For Aziraphale anything.’ If it came to it, he would fight all the Heavenly Host and Legions of Hell to keep him safe. He turns the paper over as if to find more clues to puzzling out the cryptic words. “So that was the final one of Agnes’s prophecies?”

He had to give it to the human. From what he knew, she was on the nose with all the rest. Hopefully, she could impart some last bit of wisdom to help them with what comes next. For his money, Crowley was sure to be pulled back down to Hell. Tortured in all manner of horrible ways until they grew bored of him. ‘Or worse.’ He tried to put it out of his mind, for now.

“As far as I know.” Part of Aziraphale wished he still had the book. ‘Couldn’t be helped, though. Perhaps if Heaven and Hell aren’t too riled up, I could pay the lovely American witch a visit. One could hope. Even if it isn’t at all a possibility.’

“Hmm. And Adam’s...human again?” Crowley inquired. ‘Would the boy be in danger now? No kid deserves that load of shit on their shoulders. Adam seems like a good enough boy.’

“As far as I can tell. Yes.” Aziraphale smiled, Crowley always had such a fondness for children. One of the many qualities Azraphale found so endearing.

A white delivery truck stopped just past them. Black-winged logo on the side. Crowley took a last sip of wine. “Angel.” he looked to Aziraphale passing the wine. “What if the Almighty planned it this way all along? From the very beginning?” ‘Could She have?’ Crowley truly considers the implications. An angel and a demon working together. A sleight of hand to keep both Heaven and Hell occupied enough so they would not interfere. A small boy using his God-given free will to tell them all to ‘fuck off.’ ‘Had She intended this? Them? And if so, what now?’

“Could have. I wouldn’t put it past Her.”Aziraphale takes a sip straight from the bottle. A ridiculous thought passes through Crowley’s infernal mind. ‘God what he would give to be that bottle. Feel those perfect lips pressed to him. O, a kiss. Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss. I carried from thee, dear, and my true lips.’

He couldn’t see how more ineffable she could possibly be. Crowley may be right about heaven, being a bunch of self-righteous pricks. But God was playing a whole separate game entirely. ‘Hopefully, she still needs us around.’

A man wearing a uniform bearing the same winged logo approached, clipboard in hand. “You’ve got the...um?” he asks, stopping just in front of the two men on the bench. Right where he knew they would be.

“Didn’t want them falling into the wrong hands,” Aziraphale said, referring to the nondescript box between them. Inside are a now silver crown, and bronze scale. The courier inspects the contents.

“Excuse me, gents. There’s meant to be a sword here.” He looks confused.

Aziraphale looks from Crowley then back over his shoulder. He feels the cold, rigid object pressing behind him. “Oh!” he gasped in recognition. In truth, he was happy to be once again rid of the thing. He, never being one for violence, would rather never need such an object ever again. Aziraphale passes the wine back to his demon. He stands, looking coyly at first the human then to Crowley. “Sitting on it.”

Crowley couldn’t help but admire his angel’s sweet smile, the light blush on his cheeks. He wanted to tell him how beautiful he was. Remind him every day. Bring a smile to those divine features. Ensure he never felt fear, sadness, or loneliness again. He bit the inside of his cheek instead. He sent up a silent prayer. ‘Let this not be the end. I can not say good-bye’ The sickness in his belly spread to his corporation's heart. Losing his composure would help nothing now. ‘Especially my angel.’

The courier continued about his task as if it were normal to be picking up such an odd parcel, at such an odd hour, from two odd men in front of a church. Leslie reasoned it was all part of the job. “Good thing you were here, really.”

Aziraphale brightened at the thought that perhaps their effort may have been appreciated by at least one individual. “It’s nice to have someone who recognises our part in saving the….”

Not paying much mind to the blonde, he offered his pen and clipboard. “I need someone to sign for it.”

“Oh. Right.” ‘Couldn’t be helped.’ Aziraphale supposed. ‘The fewer people that knew the truth, the better.’

Leslie was glad that his long week was nearly over. He couldn’t make sense of most of it. Chalked it up to fatigue or what have you. “Do you believe in life after death?” ‘Odd question to ask a stranger, but this fellow seems kind enough.’

“I suppose I must do.” Aziraphale provided with a polite smile. ‘Poor human seemed a bit out of sorts.’ He wondered for a moment how far the now not Antichrist’s influence had been felt.

“Yeah, If I was to tell my wife what happened to me today, she wouldn’t believe me. And I wouldn’t blame her.” The courier chuckled, taking back the clipboard. Aziraphale couldn’t help but look to Crowley. ‘To be able to come home to Crowley and share my day with him. What I would give for what humans often take for granted. To kiss him good morning. Hold him close and never let go.’ The courier left, box tucked under his arm.

The silence was once again disturbed by the low rumble of an approaching engine. Aziraphale looked down the dark country road. “There it is.” he pointed needlessly. “It says Oxford on the front.” ‘They need to get to London, not Oxford.’

Crowley takes a gulp of wine. “Yeah....but he’ll drive to London anyway.” Crowley sniffed. ‘Nothing a little demonic influence can’t solve.’ “He just won’t know why.”

‘London, back to reality. Well, the new reality of the Antichrist’s making anyway.’ Aziraphale doesn’t want the night to end. ‘Would Crowley come back to the shop with me, if asked?’ There were so many things he wanted to say. So many things needed to be said. ‘Can I now?’ “I suppose I should get him to drop me off at the bookshop.”

‘The bookshop.’ Crowley’s heart fell. The sickness in him replaced with a glacier size chunk of ice. His angel had forgotten. He wanted to curse. ‘Why do I have to remind him of the painful fact? His entire collection, first editions, priceless if not to the world but to my angel. None of this is fair.’ He felt like a stone was lodged in his throat as he spoke. “It burnt down, remember?”

The look on Aziraphale’s face said it all. No home, no books, no comfort they had both come to expect and love. Crowley wanted to take his hand, reassure him. ‘You go too fast for me, Crowley. I can't, not yet. I will not make the same mistake twice. I can offer him shelter, at least. Friends do that.’ “You can stay at my place, if you like.” It was a question, not a demand. He waited.

‘Yes!’ he wanted to scream. ‘I will go anywhere with you.’ But fear is such a strong emotion. ‘Can I risk putting Crowley in danger for my desires.’ His heart sank to his oxfords. “I don’t think my side would like that.” he tried to smile, but it was half-hearted.

‘His side? Aziraphale’s side already sees him as a traitor. Same as my own. What more could we do to anger them further?’ “You don’t have a side anymore.” He tried to remind him gently. 'Easy does it. Don't upset him. If this was our last night on earth, Aziraphale shouldn't spend it looking over his shoulder.’ “Neither of us do.” He wanted to hold him, drive 6,000 years and one failed apocalypse of worry away. “We’re on our own side.” ‘I am here for you.’ “Like Agnes said, we are going to have to choose our faces wisely.” ‘The witch is right. We need a plan to get through whatever those bastards are planning. Time is not on our side.’

Crowley held a hand out to the bus, it stopped. Aziraphale smoothing down his worn waistcoat, standing first. Crowley rose and entered the bus. He silently walked towards an available seat, exhaustion still calling to him. He felt like a decade long nap was needed at the moment.

Aziraphale followed Crowley. His mind racing. ‘You go to fast for me, Crowley. I was such a fool. Crowley loves me. Hasn't he proven it enough? Hasn't he said as much through every action and word?’ Aziraphale felt such shame for his behaviour. ‘What might we have had if I had been less of a coward. I just wanted him to be safe. In the end, I guess none of that mattered. We may have no other time than now. No time like the present, as it were.' He chose. 'Even if Crowley rejects me now he deserves to know that he is loved.’

He took the seat next to his demon. His fingers lacing together with Crowley’s slender, elegant hands. His corporeal heart quickened. Not from fear. Nothing in all 6,000 years on earth had ever felt so right. His world shifted. At that moment, he felt complete.

Crowley felt the angel’s impossibly soft hand take his. He didn’t freeze; he didn’t react at all. Outwardly at least. ‘Why is Aziraphale sitting so close? Why is he holding my hand? His hand is so blessedly perfect and warm.’ He couldn’t look at Aziraphale. ‘He senses your anxiety you knob. He's just trying to comfort you. My sweet, blessed, beautiful angel. Or, maybe Aziraphale needs the reassurance.’ Crowley’s thumb gently caressed Aziraphale's. It comforted him as well. He wanted to pull his angel into his arms. Envelop him in his love and desire to protect him. When he did look over at his angel, what he saw struck his mind useless.

Aziraphale beamed a brilliant smile at his demon. ‘He isn't pulling away. He's accepting my touch. Maybe accepting me. Don't get ahead of yourself. You don't deserve this kindness.' Part of him felt foolish. The other felt millions of voices singing Her praise. 'I have squandered your kindness too long. If you will have me, I will give you all that I am, all that I have, for as long as you desire. Whatever you can find it in yourself to give, I will treasure until my end.’

“The offer still stands, angel. It isn’t the bookshop, but it will be safe enough for tonight.” he managed to get out without much trouble. ‘I don’t want to spend another moment without you. Please, at least tonight.’

“Thank you, Crowley.” he shifts to look at him directly. “You are always so good to me. I don’t feel at times I deserve it.” He felt ashamed, but would not look away from the being he loved more than anything.

Crowley scoffs “Good…” ‘Aziraphale sees good in everything.’ “M’not. Not even a good demon.” his hand tightens on Aziraphale. ‘God, I love you, angel. How was it he, who feels unworthy? I'm Fallen, a snake, how can Aziraphale think so little of himself to not feel worthy? He is worth more than anything I could ever dream of giving him. I will worship at your feet if you let me.'

Aziraphale eyes burn. Tears were threatening to burst from him. He tries, he did, to restrain them but the tears began streaming down all the same. “I don’t want you to be anything but who you are.” ‘I Love you.’ The words are there, demanding to be spoken. However, this is not the place for such words. ‘I will' he told himself. ‘I will confess all, once we are at your flat. Caution be damned, consequence be twice over.’

Crowley felt warmth pour into him. Like the sun on a hot summer day heating his corporation to the marrow. ‘Azraphale sheltered me from the first storm, has been a constant in a world of ever-shifting fancies. You gave me a reason to keep going. I have to tell him. Tonight might be our last. Even if you don't, or can't reciprocate. You deserve to know how much it all meant to me.’ For now, he just smiles at his blushing angel. ‘For now, this is enough.’


	2. For You My Love Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley arrive at Crowley's Mayfair flat. This moment has been a long time in the making.

Mayfair, London  
Saturday 24 August 2019  
11:30 pm

The bus came to a stop in Mayfair. The driver felt a fog lift off of him. He was in London to be sure, but he wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to have driven to Oxford. Two men walked past him as he tried to gather his senses.

Crowley slowly led his angel towards the exit. He loosened his grip in case Aziraphale changed his mind. Even if he wanted nothing more than to have his angel close, it was still a choice Aziraphale had to make for himself. When Aziraphale followed still holding his hand, Crowley began to hope.

Aziraphale felt like he was in a dream. He had never felt so free, so complete, so happy. His mind a haze of anticipation. There was no hesitation now. There was no going back to the way things were. He wouldn’t even if given the option. Not now that everything he ever wanted for himself was leading him towards the flat.

As they exit the bus, Crowley shot over his shoulder, “Thanks for the lift mate.” Aziraphale simply smiled his thanks.

The evening air was damp with the memory of rain. Crowley felt weightless as they crossed the street. He had no sense of the world beyond the warm hand in his. He brought them through the entrance, into the lift and pressed the button for the top floor. They rode in silence — words needing to be shared dancing on the tips of their tongues.

When the doors opened, Crowley ushered Aziraphale out into the cold corridor. The angel smiled at him with such gentle warmth Crowley’s legs felt like they would give at any moment. He opened the door, key not needed. ‘Because the flat knows well who it belongs to.’ Aziraphale stepped inside without a moment's hesitation.

The foyer was the same cold grey concrete as the hall outside. Something about it seemed familiar somehow. Aziraphale turned to face Crowley as the door was closed. ‘He looks nervous, though hiding it well.’ Familiarity, however making Crowley far to easy to read.

“C’n I take your coat?” Crowley managed after the silence grew awkward.

“Yes. Thank you.” Aziraphale smile beamed in the dim flat. He turned, and Crowley assisted him gingerly. He is trying hard not to press his luck.

Crowley hung the coat in the closet, repeating the action with his own. When he turned back, Aziraphale smiled at him with a smile that meant he wanted something. 'How could I ever refuse that smile? Oh, in all God’s creation, there is nothing so beautiful as you.’

“Welcome to my home.” ‘Not much of a home. More an art gallery with a bed.’

“Care to give me the grand tour?” Aziraphale asked, taking Crowley’s hand once again.

Crowley smiled, ‘this is certainly more than common friendship.’ Sure there were moments when the two had touched. Those moments were not like this. Before they were fleeting, lacking the intimacy that now burned between them. ‘Aziraphale is still holding my hand. He came back to my flat. Why is he looking at me like that? Happiness? Excitement? Love? Don't get ahead of yourself.’

He pulled Aziraphale along through the foyer toward the study. ‘Well, more of a room to brood.’ He stopped, seeing what remained of Ligur in the doorway. “Shit.” He nearly forgot.

Aziraphale looked from him to the soggy clothing on the floor, then back to Crowley. His face told of his anxiety. ‘Oh.’ Aziraphale remembered the phone call and conversation at the pub. “Dear, is that the friend you spoke of?” ‘Poor Crowley lost someone. How could I have been so selfish to have forgotten?’

“Whot?” Crowley looked from what remained of Ligur to Aziraphale. “Friend?”

“Yes, dear. Sorry. I had forgotten in all the kerfuffle. I am so infinitely sorry you lost your friend.” his eyes full of empathy.

Crowley chewed on nothing. ‘Are you really that daft? Surely he has to know he's my only friend.’ “No, not a friend. The friend I was referring to after your discorporation was you.” he sneered at the puddle. “That’s Ligur. Holy water,” he said matter of factly.

Aziraphale froze in horror. ‘Utter destruction, that was the gift I gave you.' The concept was scary. Looking at the reality of what could have happened to Crowley made it all too real. A hand went to his throat. ‘I will never let you be in such danger again.’ Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the mess was resigned to the rubbish bin outside. He turned back to Crowley. “There. Now, about this tour.”

Crowley nodded and continued through the door into the study. He nearly forgot all of the rather embarrassing decor decisions he made. In truth, he had never actually believed Aziraphale would ever come to his flat. So not much consideration was made on that account. Especially not holding his hand smiling at him like he was. His heart bloomed with contentment. ‘Aziraphale wants to be here.’

Aziraphale took in the room before him. A rather ostentatious desk, and what could only be called a throne. There was a large television mounted to the wall, a beautiful sketch of the Mona Lisa, and a truly astonishing view from the large windows. Though the room was in keeping with the coldness. ‘It is Crowley.’

Crowley watched Aziraphale study his surroundings. And still, his angel smiled, somehow more so. Crowley started to move towards the rotating door, leading his conservatory. Aziraphale followed in attentive silence. When he finally saw the beautiful plants in the adjacent room, Aziraphale froze once again. His hand fluttered to his chest, his eyes wide like saucers, he drew a quick inhalation. He was awestruck.

“Crowley my dear.” a hand reached to tenderly stroke the nearest leaf. “They are so beautiful. I have never seen plants quite as exquisite.” Aziraphale looked as if he were cooing over a newborn babe. Part of Crowley wanted to stop him from spoiling the buggers. Mostly he was filled with pride.

“Thanks, angel.” Crowley watches him intently. Several plants reached their branches and leaves towards the new being. They brushed against the angel as best they could. Drawn to the kindly man like a moth to a flame. Aziraphale giggled and praised the beauties. Affection radiating off of him. Crowley understood well what his plants were feeling. He himself was powerless to do anything but yearn to be closer, hear his praise, worship his beauty and warm heart. He didn’t even mind several plants blooming miraculously. “C’mon angel. There is still a whole flat to see. Don’t want to spoile’m.”

There were large french doors on the interior wall of the conservatory. Crowley pushed the door open and snapped on the lights. It was a stylish, ‘hopefully comfortable’ sitting room. Black chic leather sofa and chairs, a modern minimalistic fireplace, another large tv over the mantle, and a sleek marble coffee table. 'Wonder what it would be like spending lazy evenings in front of the fire reading while Crowley watched television, or tended to his plants.’ Aziraphale ached for that fantasy. “It's all so very posh darling.”

‘Darling? Dear?’ The endearments washed over Crowley in gentle, soothing waves. ‘Does Aziraphale know the effect this is having on me? Perhaps now is the time to come clean. Bear my wretched soul and hope for acceptance.’ He nearly did before his angel spoke. ‘Posh was it?’ “Not really your style angel. But you are welcome here anytime.” with that; he led them further. He showed him the sparse guest bedroom and bath down the hall. Coaxing Aziraphale towards the kitchen. He momentarily considered miracling the statue of two angels, engaging each other, to the bottom of the sea. It may depict wrestling, but it could have been other pursuits.

It was too late. Aziraphale had already seen the offending sculpture. His cheeks a beautiful crimson now. “Evil triumphing over good.” He looked a bit scandalised but did not chastise his demon for the rather suggestive piece of art. ‘It is beautiful. Just another part of Crowley.’

“Yeah.” was all he could manage. Pulling him further towards the kitchen. The kitchen too was cold, clean, unused. There was an island in the centre with two barstools. “Would you like anything? Tea, wine, a strong scotch perhaps?”

Aziraphale sat on the nearest stool, still beaming. It had been a long eleven years. “I believe scotch is in order.” the effects of the wine were long gone at this point. Crowley squeezed his hand, offering a smile before letting go to prepare their drinks. He needed a moment to compose himself. Perhaps it was this last week that left his mind raging. Maybe it was that exquisite divine being sitting in his flat. Whatever the cause, he was not capable of forming one competent, rational thought. He steeled his face to hide the inner maelstrom. Aziraphale watched him as he grabbed two crystal glasses and a single malt scotch from the cupboard. He poured two generous servings and offered one to Aziraphale.

He stood before his angel. Those eyes were staring back at him. Aziraphale took the glass and pressed it to his lips; keeping eye contact while he sipped. Crowley was helpless under that gaze. He took a sip of his own, thankful for his trusty sunglasses concealing his failing composure. ‘Aziraphale has never looked at me like that.' In the vast catalogue of his mind of their interaction, Aziraphale had never seemed so sure, focused, and contented. "Was it desire?’

“Is the tour over? You showed me the guest room. Do you have a bedroom?” he said before taking another sip of the amber liquid.

“Ngk.” ‘smooth Crowley. He isn't asking for a tumble. Aziraphale just wants to see your home.' Curiosity was one of his angel’s many wonderful traits. “Yeah. It's on the opposite end of the flat. Figured we both needed a drink.”

“In that case, lead the way dear.” Aziraphale stood scotch in one hand, Crowley’s hand now in the other. Crowley led them back towards what Aziraphale now affectionately dubbed The Throne Room. ‘Leave it to Crowley to have the most garish chair ever to exist.' At least that Aziraphale had seen anyway. Aziraphale could sense Crowley’s anxiety. Every step was calculated, composed. The sway of hips almost entirely gone. Aziraphale chastised himself. ‘He is on edge because of me. My cruel words, and refusal to acknowledge how much I care for him. I have caused this uncertainty.’ Aziraphale was determined to right this wrong.

They are again in a hall. This one was far shorter than the other. Crowley informs Aziraphale the door to the right is merely storage. They are about to turn the corner when Aziraphale notices a rather familiar statue. It is a giant dove, wings outstretched. He considered it for a moment, Crowley stopping to allow him to do so. A flash of recognition caused him to draw a shaking gasp. If it weren’t for a sudden miracle, his scotch would have crashed to the floor. ‘The church, the Nazis, my valiant Crowley there to rescue me.’ His hand tightened its hold on Crowley. The other hand came to Crowley’s forearm to steady himself. “From the church,” he whispered his voice quivering. ‘Oh, my beautiful, wonderous demon. How could I ever not love you? You have always been by my side when I needed you most. Even now.’ Tears fell unrestrained. His heart seemed to want to flutter free of its cage. He turned to Crowley, eyes searching that controlled face. “How?” it wasn’t necessary, but Aziraphale wanted to know.

‘Aziraphale is crying.” But from the look in those radiant blue eyes, it was not a bad thing. He stared at the cold tile floor for a moment. Considering how to be honest and not sound like the besotted fool he was. “Souvenir.” He drained his scotch and returned it to the kitchen. “Once I got you home safe I went back. Couldn’t get it in the Bentley so…” he sniffed trying to appear normal, failing miserably. “I miracled it over.”

Aziraphale was trembling. Everything in him screamed to confess to Crowley. Before he could do that, however, Crowley deserved an apology, a thousand apologies more like. There was so much he deserved, of course, but the apology was the first step.

“Crowley my dearest I am so infinitely sorry for how I have treated you.” he began. His voice was weak and trembling.

“Angel, that isn’t…” he protested but was quickly silenced by soft fingers pressed to his lips.

“Please, I need you to hear this.” Aziraphale whimpered staring at the lips his fingers covered. When his beloved nodded, he began again in earnest.

“I have denied you, Crowley. Not just to others, but to myself, to you. I have said the most ghastly things to keep you at arm's length. Too damn selfish to leave you in peace. I have hurt you is so many ways that I am not sure I am worthy of your forgiveness.” He looked into those black lenses. He desperately wanted to see those entrancing eyes. He had always thought they were so lovely. “It was cowardice. I feared for what would happen to us if anyone were to find out... What your side would do to you if I had acted upon my desires. I should have been brave.” a remorseful sob choked him. Crowley’s free hand covered Aziraphale’s that clung to his forearm. “You were always so brave. If it weren’t for you, we would have never had the arrangement. And my life would have been unbearable without you. I am sorry, Crowley. You have been so patient with me all these years. I am sorry for assuming the worst of you. Accusing you of deeds, I knew you would have gone out of your way to avoid. You are kind and gentle, even if you refute it. And you deserve so much more than how I have behaved.” Crowley stayed hidden behind his glasses, face impassive. Aziraphale wanted to rip them off to see the expression underneath.

“M’not brave.” he sighed. “Forgiveness from a demon? Can’t say it is worth much,” he said, looking away. ‘How is this beautiful idiot even asking me this?' Of course, he had forgiven Aziraphale. He knew the dangers of their friendship. He knew his angel had far more to give up than he did. 'How can one rightly ask someone to give up Heaven for them? But that’s exactly what you asked him to do. Turn his back on God’s love, for what it was worth, and eternity. Some bloody friend.' Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hands slip from him. They tentatively came to rest on either side of his glasses eyes imploring.

“May I?” a simple request. Crowley answered with a nod. Glasses were removed, folded, and place aside on the statue. Blue eyes met yellow. “A demon you maybe, but to say your forgiveness holds no worth is wrong.” A smile swept over his angel’s focused soft features. “I love you, Anthony J. Crowley, with all my heart. And I will tell the Almighty herself. I will never deny how much you mean to me again. If God punishes me for loving you, then she isn’t much of a loving God, now is she?”

Crowley froze. Never had he expected to hear those words come from Aziraphale’s lips. The outright blasphemy was new too. His eyes now unshielded spoke as much. Oh, he hoped, dreamed, fantasised about this moment for 6,000 years. But to have it happen. It nearly did him in. His hands were trembling. His cheeks wet with tears that he hadn’t realised he shed. ‘Well, aren’t you a right pathetic excuse for a demon. Twice cursed eyes.’ He wasn’t able to restrain what happened next. He pulled his angel into an embrace and buried his pitiful face into his shoulder. A gentle hand held him close, the other softly carding through his hair. He breathed a sigh he felt he had been holding in since the dawn of humanity.

“I hope you can forgive me.” Aziraphale tightens the embrace. “I have been a complete bastard, my love.”

Crowley pulled back face red, tenderness in serpent eyes. “Blasphemy now cursing? I fear I have rather rubbed off on you, angel.” he laughed. “I would forgive you anything. I love you, Aziraphale, and nothing will ever change that. I’ve always been yours.” They were both crying now. Emotions now unrepressed flooding their essence. It was a dizzying feeling. “Angel?”

Blue eyes bright and singing of their love smiled up at him. “Yes, my love?”

“May I kiss you?” He sounded so desperate, but he didn’t care.

“Yes, my love.” Crowley’s hand came to rest on Aziraphale’s lower back. Aziraphale’s rested on his chest, pressing their bodies together. Other hand came to cup his angel’s cheek. Thumb gently wiping away tears.

Aziraphale studied those beautiful eyes. Crowley’s brows were raised and furrowed. It was the look of a man lost in a desert and finding an oasis. Disbelief, joy, apprehension, and love called out from those golden eyes. He was waiting to be stopped; shoved away. Aziraphale saw this and tightened his fist into black silk shirt.

Crowley slowly closed the distance. His lips were warm and soft as they barely touched Aziraphale. It was a question. Aziraphale answered by tilting his chin to fit their mouths together and 'Oh how marvellous this is.' He pressed further into their embrace, giving into Crowley completely. His mind was a chorus of praise for his beloved. His spicy, rich smoky scent, lean, strong body, and his an infinitely beautiful soul. The fact that his love was returned in an equal measure made all thoughts beyond them vanish.

‘I'm kissing Aziraphale.' Ask him an hour ago if he thought this was at all possible and he would have called you ridiculous, or worse. Now he could hardly maintain control of his own corporation. His knees threatened to betray him. ‘If this was part of Her plan, I will seek her out and thank her personally.' Part of him wanted to push further. Devour his angel with hungry, needy kisses. Watch Aziraphale take his pleasure from him. But a kiss was all his angel agreed to. He pulled back with great difficulty.

Aziraphale’s forehead tipped forward resting on Crowley’s. Aziraphale smells of lilies, old books, tea, and sunlight. Crowley breathed him in. Searing this memory into his essence. ‘If this was all we ever have, I want to remember every detail.’

“Can we finish the tour beloved?” he looked up, pressing a chased peck to a thoroughly enraptured demon’s lips.

“Anything Aziraphale. Anything you want.”

The door before them was opened. Aziraphale was led inside. The room was nearly bathed in complete darkness. No windows to even allow the moon to shine in. In the centre of the room was a massive four-poster bed. It was draped with sheer black curtains. The bed was luxurious, to say the least. There was a mass of black pillows, ranging from small cushions to full body length ones. The sheets were black satin. A thick black down duvet and a sable throw completed the shrine to sleep.

Heat pooled in Aziraphale’s corporation imagining Crowley sleeping peacefully. Mind lost to the beyond, far from the worries of the world. ‘Perhaps I may yet be able to see that one day.’

A gentle tug on his hand, and he was shown to the master bathroom. The bath was black marble as grandiose as the bed. There was a shower with several showerheads jutting from the grey walls at all angles. All the usual trappings of modern bathrooms were present. Sparse, as the rest of the house. Which made the few personal touches Crowley scattered about all the more intimate. ‘These things mattered to him. You beautiful lovely serpent.’

This time Aziraphale led the way. He was timid, nerves screaming their displeasure. ‘This might be too much. What we have now is more than I have ever dared to hope for.’ He crossed the bedroom to the bed. It was intimidating where his mind had settled. But if Crowley was amenable to the idea, he would see it through to fruition.

Aziraphale sat, eyes asking a question he wasn’t sure his voice was currently capable of forming. Crowley sat. His angel looked equal parts terrified and expectant. Crowley wasn’t certain of the cause, but he would be there to fight away any fear causing delicate features to worry so.

“Crowley?” his words barely a breath.

“Yes, angel?” his voice was velvet, low, and soothing.

“There is something I would like to ask you. A-and I don’t want you to answer...what you believe I want to hear. It is important that you answer truthfully.” Aziraphale still looked terrified but resolute. ‘A soldier before battle.’

“Whatever it is Aziraphale, I will not lie to you. You should know that by now.” he cupped his love’s cheek.

Aziraphale smiled, steeled himself with a sigh. “W-would...well...You see Crowley. Oh, this is silly.” He huffed and composed himself. “Would you make love to me?” Blue eyes filled with hope and longing.

Crowley's brain lost all functioning. ‘Did Aziraphale just asked me that?’ “Have you ever…” the words were left unsaid. ‘I died today; this is some dream or crazed fantasy.’

“No. No, I haven’t. I will not deny I have...o-often thought of what it would be like to...know you, as it were. The humans certainly seem to enjoy it. I’ve heard the whole act is more...rewarding if the parties engaging are in love. Though I suppose that is per the individual’s own proclivities.”

He wanted to kiss his angel into the next century. It was ever so endearing to hear him try to politely discuss a topic he was certain left his angel befuddled. Crowley stifled a chuckle. ‘This is all too blessedly adorable.’ “Do you know what you are asking?” Crowley wanted to make sure his angel wasn’t walking into something he didn’t have all the facts on.

“As I understand it…” he cleared his throat. “We both must put forth... an effort, so to say. I am not certain what effort you prefer your lovers to possess. I would be amenable to either.” Aziraphale found the floor suddenly very interesting.

“My lovers?” ‘was Aziraphale assuming?’

“I only ask that you...now...if we...to not take another. I don’t think I could bear it. I will not judge you on any dalliances, or job requirements you may have engaged in.”

“Angel I am not that type of demon. Asmodeus and his lot of Succubi and Incubi got that sort of temptation covered. I am just as in the dark as you, in regard to practical application.” he took a breath. “There is only one being in all Her creation I would even consider, have ever considered indulging in ssssinsss of the flesssh.” he attempted to lighten the tense air with a bit of humour. “Though that is just silly human dribble to shame women into sexual repression.”

“Oh dearest.” he looked ashamed. His eyes averted. “Crowley I am sorry to assume. You are just ever so beautiful. I know how humans practically swoon at your visage.”

Crowley scoffed to himself. “Let me assure you I am not alone in the humans finding them pleasurable to look at. There are quite many mortals I have wanted to curse for considering you in that way.”’

“Me? I hardly see what so alluring about my form.”

“You are having a go at me.” He cocked a brow. “I will tell you how beautiful, alluring, positively ravishing you are without all the self-deprecating nonsense, angel.”

“Oh, I am not...I am... soft.” he looked away sheepishly. Crowley considered this. He thought his angel enjoyed this form; it was sublime. The softness was an outward expression of his inner beauty. Had he misinterpreted this?

“If you want, you could change your appearance.” He leaned in, placing a hand on plump thigh. Breath hot on Aziraphale’s neck. "Though I would have you know…” he brushed a kiss just below the shell of his angel’s ear. “I am particularly fond of you like this.”

A shiver ran through Aziraphale. “You are?” this was asked as if Crowley had just suggested he had killed the Almighty. Utter disbelief staring back at Crowley.

"Oh, angel. I think you are breathtaking. I could write sonnets on the topic that would make the old bard jealous.” he said, kissing gently at that perfect neck.

Aziraphale blushed bright scarlet at this. ‘Not only does he love me, he desires me.’ Heat pooled in his belly warm and intoxicating. He felt weightless once again. ‘How more wondrous could this night be?’ He was determined to find out. “Please kiss me, my love.”

Crowley cradled Aziraphale’s face. In turn, Aziraphale leaned into the gentle embrace. Crowley took his angel's left hand, fingers brushing over knuckles. “This sinner’s cradle, a beggar's shrine to thy perfection. Mine own unbroken devotion a miserable pittance, compared to but a moment of thy affection.” A delicate kiss is pressed to his angel’s wrist. Aziraphale watched him intently. “Paradise be not of earth,” a kiss to right cheek. “Nor sea,” a kiss to left. “Nor heaven above,” a kiss lingering on forehead. “But held here, in so unworthy embrace, of one not meant for love.” Crowley leaned in, lips met, brushing in the lightest of touches. Aziraphale’s breath catches.

“Sing for me oh divine starlight,” a reverent kiss to the shell of Aziraphale’s ear. “For thy song cleanseth my soul.” teeth delicately drawn over earlobe. “For you, most deserved of veneration,” He fixes his gaze on those impossibly blue eyes. “Can make the damned once again whole.” Crowley met his angel’s mouth in a passionate kiss. His love and devotion pouring into every moment. He slowly pulled away, both beings breathless.

Crowley brought their foreheads together, “I prostrate myself bare before thee.” His eyes closed, tightening their embrace. “Oh, wondrous cupid, a garden for thy tending.” He buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck. “If this be but a dream, wake me not, that my sleep be unending.” He brushed his lips against delicate jaw, near Aziraphale’s ear. “No triumphs of Heaven, nor torments of Hell will I allow to rend us apart.” He held Aziraphale for a long moment. Grounding his aching soul to his angel’s presence. Crowley drew one long cleansing breath before meeting those blue eyes once again. “For I ne’er wish to be farther from thee than mine own heart.”

His eyes twinkling with newly forming tears closed. Crowley, like before, came forward slowly. Soft lips met, more insistent than before. The sensation was all too new. Crowley found himself lost in it. A soft moan issued from his angel’s throat. Crowley’s right hand went to Aziraphale’s back and urged him closer. His angel complied.

Crowley’s mind was awash with all the things he was witness to over the centuries. Images that he allowed to play through his mind. Things he wanted to share with his angel. Heated kisses, bodies entwined, ecstasy in each other’s arms. ‘We can now.' And how he wanted to supplicate himself to this most glorious being. He parted his lips, his love answered in kind. His hand moved from cheek to cradle his angel’s head. Crowley wanted more; he wanted to feel every inch of Aziraphale’s body against his own.

Their kisses once chasted gave way to passion. Crowley’s tongue dances along the seam of Aziraphale's pliant lips. Finding entrance almost immediately. Soft moans flowed from his angel. It stoked the fire that was steadily building all evening. ‘If this was all the time we have, I will spend every moment showing you the depths of my love.’

Aziraphale felt the tongue breach his mouth. He nearly felt faint. His world was nothing except each point of contact, the heady scent of Crowley, and the warmth growing within him. He met the serpent’s tongue with his own. Uncertain at first. Then thoroughly relishing the contact. A brush against lips. An exploration of teeth. A swipe against a particularly sensitive spot on the roof of his mouth. Aziraphale felt Crowley shift, his body pressing him towards the bed. Aziraphale allowed himself to be gently guided down.

Crowley’s mouth began to descend. First to his angel’s jaw, nipping and licking gently. Relishing every new sound coming from those heavenly cords.

Aziraphale clung to his shirt, pulling him closer. Aziraphale's head fell to the side, allowing more access to his demon. Love poured from him in intense waves. Crashing into Crowley, who groaned his pleasure against Aziraphale's throat. He kissed the softness just beneath his jaw. Teeth slightly scraping eliciting a soft keen. A hand came to tangle into his fiery hair. Holding him close, begging for more.

Crowley trailed further, nipping and sucking at the delicate flesh that peaked above the restrictive collar. His angel trembled, gasping as each new sensation rolled through him. He began to kiss his way to the other side. Aziraphale encouraged him by allowing more access, head tipping back into the mattress.

Teeth, tongue, and lips caressed every inch of exposed skin until it was not enough. Crowley returned his attention to rosy lips. One last lingering kiss before he reared back up to look into azure eyes. They were darker now, pooled with desire. ‘Another memory for the catalogue.’ “May I?” he asked reverently caressing the tartan bow tie.

“Please.” the response somewhere between a whisper and moan.

“If you want to stop, you only need to say so. That’s it. We stay where you are comfortable.” thumb swept gently over trembling bottom lip.

“I will.” his angel smiled at his concern. “How do you want me?”

“We could move more onto the bed. This position will become a little difficult, I imagine.” he considered their placement options.

“No. My...what shape...if I am to make an effort to my body. What would you like best?” his words stuttering out.

“Whatever you feel most comfortable with. I have a male’s anatomy at the moment. But if you would prefer…”

“No, I would have you as you are.”

Crowley sat up, keeping eye contact with his angel. He moved to take Aziraphale’s leg and bring it to his lap. He deftly undid the laces, sliding oxford free. The other shoe removed in the same fashion. His own disappeared under the edge of the bed. Crowley rose and knelt on the mattress. He held his hand out to Aziraphale who took it gingerly; guiding them to the centre of the bed. Both kneeling while kisses exchanged, bow tie pulled free. The first button of his collar undone. Crowley’s mouth never leaving Aziraphale. His elegant, dexterous fingers worked each button free until he was stopped by the waistcoat, buttons undone smoothly. Once it was open, he continued his original pursuit. Focusing on that wondrous mouth.

Once the shirt was freed from Aziraphale’s trousers, and the remaining buttons open, Crowley shifted back only enough to take in his angel’s features. “You wanna keep going, angel?”

He received a pleading nod. A new wave of desire pushed into him. Crowley shivered, his own effort ached. His hands snaked under the cotton shirt, trailing feather-light touches up Aziraphale’s soft sides, to his chest, then shoulder. He pushed the waistcoat and shirt off in one sensual movement. Caressing his way down his angel’s arms. He trailed back down, taking the cotton undershirt in hand. One last look to assure his angel wanted to progress. The shirt was slowly lifted, revealing the flushed pale skin beneath. He discarded the garment, thoroughly entranced by the vision before him. ‘By Her mercy.' Aziraphale was luminescent in the darkness. His eyes held some worry that Crowley was determined to erase forever. 'Divine beauty, indeed.’

Aziraphale felt quite exposed. Though from the look on Crowley’s face, he wanted it no other way. Crowley made to shift closer before Aziraphale placed a hand on the black silk still covering his body. “I want to see you as well my love.”

Crowley smiled a mischievous grin. Taking his shirt in hand, he tugged it free from leather trousers. In one sinuous movement shirt and undershirt were pulled over his head. He threw the fabric behind him. Fixing his angel with a hungry stare.

Trembling hands reached out. “Oh, my love. You are absolutely pulchritudinous.”

Crowley cocked an eyebrow at the statement. ‘My angel and his vocabulary.’

Crowley was all lean taught lines and muscle. Aziraphale placed a tentative hand over the centre of his chest and leaned in. One single chased kiss blessed the hollow of Crowley’s throat. He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale was a tease to vex him or it was completely innocent, but it was working. His trousers were agonisingly tight.

With a finger beneath his angel’s supple chin, he brought him back to a passionate kiss. His arms encircled Aziraphale, guiding him closer. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his demon's neck, deepening the kiss. Trailing feather-light touches down Aziraphale's sides, Crowley's hands grasped ample thighs. In one sudden moment, Aziraphale's legs were lifted and wrapped around Crowley's hips. He gasped his surprise.

One hand clinging to thigh, the other on his angel's back, holding them in their press. Crowley turned them, leaning his weight forward to guide them down. His hand fell from that plump thigh to the mattress, slowly guiding them down. Perfect blond curls coming to resting on the mass of pillows. Crowley sank down, careful to not allow his weight to rest on his angel fully. Where their pelvises met Crowley became suddenly aware of the effort Aziraphale chose. The possibilities churned in his mind.

One last chaste kiss and Crowley straighten, gazing upon the hauntingly gorgeous being laid out before him. Another silent praise was sent to Her ear. A hand went to soft cheek. He glared his sincerity into those lapis gems. “I am going to take this slow. If it becomes too much, stop me. This configuration can be a bit tricky to my understanding. I will not hurt you.”

“I trust you, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s eyes glistening. Of course, his demon wouldn’t harm him. He wanted this. Needed to bare himself before his love. Open his soul and share this most vulnerable state. It was clear now why this was such a connective expression of one’s devotion to the other. The warmth gave way to a brilliant heat that rushed to his groin.

Tender fingers trailed down his angel’s body. A kiss to lips, jaw, neck, then to the centre of his flushed chest. Following the trail of goosebumps left in the wake of the caress. When his fingers ghosted over supple stomach, a nipple was taken into Crowley’s warm wet mouth. Aziraphale gasped. Chest thrusting up into the sensation. His legs falling to the bed, to assisting his ascension. A comforting hand encouraging him to lay back down. He relaxed into the delicious feeling rushing to his newly acquired manhood. It throbbed with a previously unknown need. His whole body is trembling uncontrollably; teeth lightly plucked at the stiffening bud. Another gasping moan, singing his pleasure.

Long fingers worked at his belt, unfastening the buckle. A flick of said finger made quick work of the button of his trousers. Crowley switched his attention to the other nipple, freehand caressing the now perk bud that felt the cold of the room acutely. Hands tangle into crimson hair to ground his aching essence.

The zipper of his angel’s trousers was slowly eased open. His mouth moved lower, worshipping the swell of that delicate belly. Teeth were scraping gently, tongue lapping at the sweat that had begun to bead. ‘Sweet, delicately salty, and all Aziraphale.’ The tongue slithered just above the band of his trousers.

Aziraphale’s fingers tightened in red tresses. His hips canted into the ministration, needing more, pleading for more. It was maddening and so exquisite. Crowley looked up from his focused attention. His eyes burning with intense desire. Aziraphale was lost in blissful pleasure, still yet to know the height of the mountain he was climbing.

A wicked, lustful thought burned in Crowley’s mind. This was all very new to him. But he'd damned, again, if he wouldn’t pour every ounce of knowledge he had come across over the years into it. His imagination could fill in the blanks. This next bit he would be a liar if he said he hadn’t personally wanted to indulge his angel with for several millennia.

Fingers tucking into the band of trousers and boxers beneath. “Aziraphale may I?” Aziraphale struggled to understand the question posed.

“Y-yes.” the answer straining to leave his throat.

Crowley gently pulled, raising up to get better leverage. The garments slid free and tossed aside. Quickly, right leg claimed, ankle resting on his broad shoulders. Before him looking thoroughly enraptured, his angel lay stark against the black bedding. A vision of pale cream, dusted with white, christened with the most delightful blush. His soft curls wet and clinging to his forehead and temples. His newly made effort swollen, throbbing with need. Crowley groaned struggling against his own ever-increasing desires.

The tips of fingernails ghosted over shins, down thighs and over lush hips. Tongue, teeth and mouth worked in unison. Special attention lavished on plump sensitive inner thighs. Sucking hard, teeth-baring down, tongue easing the sting. The response was just as delicious as the action. Aziraphale’s hips thrust into the air, searching for connection. This time the pulse that the angel issued forth left Crowley dizzy. He panted, teeth clenched. When the wave of arousal abated, he took several deep, shaky breaths. “Crowley...Oh, my love, please...I need…”

His voice sounded pained. Crowley looked up, but his angel’s eyes were shut tight. “Do I need to stop angel?”

“No! Please, I need... I feel like I am on fire.” fire was groaned as a tongue lapped at his hip. His hands grasping desperately at the bedding, as fingers trailed just above his desperate effort.

Crowley chuckles to himself. He wasn’t sure if his attention were exceptionally skilled or if his angel was just particularly susceptible. He took it as a compliment nonetheless. He figured it was time to get to the main course, as it were. The pads of his fingers slide lightly from the base of the proffered arousal to velvety head. That earned him a whimpering keen. He wanted to hear that sound again. His hand encircled his angel’s length. To ease the motion, he miracled his hand slick. He gave several firm explorative pumps of his wrist. Aziraphale’s whole corporation tensed. “Crowley! Somethings...Uuughn.” his words cut off by his climax stealing through him. Crowley nearly came as well. The sharp, throbbing pulses had turned into a tsunami and drowned him. He choked his own release down. Crowley was surprised that he had brought his angel to completion so easily, but then he reminded himself that this was all new. Raw, intense, no experience to help stave off and endure. Luckily for them, they were not bound by normal human limitations.

Aziraphale spills onto his hip, stomach, and Crowley’s hand. Crowley continues stroking his arousal through each pulse of ecstasy. Crowley’s chest was heaving. He was affected as well; serpent eyes were blown wide watching him convulse. Throat straining as his body came. Once the euphoria subsided he relaxed back onto the bed, panting. He stared down at Crowley who was watching, softly stroking his effort. “That was…” ‘stupendous, magnificent, divine, sumptuous, transcendent, take your pick.’

“Do you want to stop.” Crowley’s deep soothing voice coaxed him from the haze of his mind. A gentle kiss pressed to the purple bruise already forming there, eyes unwavering. It took a moment to think, Aziraphale knew there was more. He wouldn’t stop now. Crowley was still wearing those impossibly tight leather pants. He wanted to be pressed against him, with nothing between them. He wanted to hold Crowley tight and never let go. 'This feels right, ever so right.'

“Please my love. Don’t stop.” his response breathy and barely audible.

A devilish grin rolled across sharp features. His hand never ceasing its delicate stroking. His head bowed, and in the pulse of a heartbeat, Aziraphale was once again strangled by pleasure. His body tensing as his arousal was enveloped in the warm heat of Crowley’s mouth. One hand twisted in the duvet, the other harshly fisted in crimson strands. A groan from Crowley rippled through his throat and into Aziraphale’s member. Aziraphale fought the urge to buck into the sensation. Crowley’s tongue worked over his length. Pressing along the underside of his shaft as he was plunged into the hot depths of Crowley’s throat.

Aziraphale was gasping, drowning in ecstasy pleading for more. “Crowley please...please.”

Crowley brought his head up tongue, dragging up the length, sucking as he withdrew. He pressed his tongue into the slit at the head before pulling off with a pop. He looked to his angel. 'Would Aziraphale want to finish in my mouth? Would he allow me to keep going?' His thumb began circling on the underside at the base of the flared head.

“Angel, I am going to prepare you. If you come, I will really enjoy it. I want you to come for me as many times as you can. Can you do that for me love?” It may have been a question, but felt like a command. One Aziraphale was all too willing to concede to. He took gasping breaths. His whole body near to convulsing.

“Y-yes.”

Crowley dipped his head again. Pulsing up and down, working his tongue, providing suction. Both of his angel’s hands now tightening in his hair, pulling causing Crowley to groan in pleasure. Aziraphale’s hips canted up, forcing himself deeper into his love’s throat. Crowley brought one leg over his shoulder, caressing the shaking thigh. The other leg was spread wide to allow access to Aziraphale’s entrance. His fingers once again miracled slick. He brought the pads of his fingers to massage at the tight muscles; easing them relaxed.

A strange pressure coaxed him to another orgasm. His body tightened, throat locked. His cries of pleasure strangling him. His hips burying his effort deep into Crowley’s hot throat. His release spilling, which Crowley eagerly accepted. ‘Salty sweet and perfectly Aziraphale.’ Tongue still lapping at the head.

Crowley all the while watching with utter fascination. He drew off of Aziraphale’s arousal. ‘I could do this until the next apocalypse.’ His fingers working to relax his entrance. Once the shuttering subsided and his angel was able to draw a breath, he placed a soothing hand on his stomach. “Angel. This next part, I need you to relax and breathe. If you tense, it might become unpleasant or take longer. I am going to go as slow as you need. When you are prepared, I am going to enter you. Is that what you want?”

Aziraphale listened to the instructions. ‘Relax, I have to relax.’ The two orgasms left his bones feeling rather like custard. ‘Breathe.' His breathing was erratic at best. He focused, slowing his breathing.

“Just like that love.” Crowley grabbed a pillow and positioned it under Aziraphale’s hips. “I need you to spread your legs and relax as much as you can. When I enter, focus on your breathing.”

Aziraphale could only nod and comply. Crowley assisted him, positioning his legs as needed. His breathing was slow, counting to three with each intake and exhalation. “Just like that love. You are so gorgeous.”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s length back in hand. Slow, languid strokes just to keep him in a relaxed aroused state. “His other hand began massaging his angel’s entrance in earnest. Slick fingers were pressing and working the muscle. When Crowley felt certain, Aziraphale was pliant enough; he pushed one finger inside.

Aziraphale tensed but remembered to relax and breathe. The intrusion wasn’t painful, per se. Simply different. A pressure. Crowley pressed in watching Aziraphale for any signs of discomfort. Aziraphale breathed, eyes trained on the ceiling. Crowley crooked his finger and found the little bundle he heard about. Aziraphale nearly came undone. His hips thrust up, but then he brought them back down chasing the sensation. Crowley rubbed soothing strokes over his abdomen, encouraging him to relax. Several passes of the sensitive spot and he felt Aziraphale’s entrance ease. A second finger was added. Aziraphale was better able to fight the urge to thrust. His breathing became harsh. This time when the nerves were brushed, his head turned to the side, keening into the silent flat.

There was a snap, and Aziraphale glanced up. Crowley was now naked his own effort flushed red leaking at the tip. His demon made him feel so amazing. Aziraphale wanted to reciprocate, hand reaching out of its own accord.

Crowley registered his angel’s sudden movement. A soft hand wrapped around him. His head fell back, hips thrust into the hand stroking him. He groaned, quickening his fingers into Aziraphale. A third finger was added, stopping Aziraphale. A pulse hot and all-consuming crashed into Crowley.

“Crowley. That’s. Oh, that is divine.” his plump hand began tending to Crowley with more insistence.

“You are nearly ready...uh...shit...do you still want me…” his own concentration was failing. ‘I get it now. Humans definitely had the right of this one.’

“Yes. Please.” Aziraphale panted.

Crowley shifted to kiss his angel before moving back between his thighs. He threw a leg over his shoulder and kissed the knee. His fingers still working to assure a painless slide. He pulled his fingers free and worked the miracled slick into his arousal. His eyes trained on his angel, who was desperately trying to regulate his breathing. He lowered himself down, effort in hand. Lining himself with Aziraphale’s entrance. “I love you, Aziraphale. Relax and breathe for me, angel.”

Aziraphale pulled him into a heated kiss, tongue seeking, tasting himself on Crowley. He pressed forward gently. The head of his arousal slipped inside with slight resistance. Aziraphale’s breath caught, head slamming back into the pillows. Throat tensing on a moan. Crowley nearly blacked out under the surge of lust, love, and pleasure. His breath stole from him. It took a long moment to compose himself.

“Breathe for me. That’s it. I have you. Tell me when I can move.” Aziraphale was still so tight. It nearly sent him over the edge. He willed himself back from the brink. Aziraphale’s breathing evened out. His entrance relaxing.

“I need...Move for me please.” his plea thrummed through Crowley.

He pressed forward. His hand coming to stroke Aziraphale’s member. He leaned down, desperate for a kiss himself. His essence sang in praise. Not for the Almighty but for the perfection beneath him. He sheathed himself fully. Aziraphale’s breath was rapidly increasing. Crowley drank in the moans that escaped his angel. Each caress was eliciting a stronger new wave of unbridled pleasure surging into him.

“Is this alright angel?”

Aziraphale nodded, unable to form words. His eyes locked on Crowley as his hips drew back and thrust in once more. Aziraphale’s brows furrowed. It wasn’t painful. It was a plea for more. Crowley kissed him. “I’ve got you. If you need to come, come.” Aziraphale keened kissing with fervour.

Crowley set a slow rhythm. Deep purposeful thrust hitting that bundle of nerves deep inside his love. He was battered with the pulsing energy now. Aziraphale moaned into their kiss with every thrust. Those beautiful sounds, the force of the surging all-consuming love plucked at him. A violin string too taut on the verge of snapping. His hand between them working Aziraphale’s effort. Aziraphale’s body slowly tensed, his head falling back, throat straining as he climbed that impossible peak again. He clung to Crowley who watched intently. Mouth falling open as Aziraphale waled his climax. He wanted nothing more than to watch Aziraphale come undone for the rest of eternity. 'One more. Give me one more.’

His thrusts picked up. The pressure in himself was building to a fever pitch. Aziraphale wasn’t even allowed a moment to recover. He was still convulsing crying out with each thrust. The waves now felt like a constant pulsation around him.

Aziraphale felt a new sensation, more powerful than any before begin to build. He could feel Crowley. In him, all around him. Surging through him. Aziraphale melted into that sensation; it was rapturous. He reached out for Crowley. Crowley’s thrusts brought him once again to the summit. The world fell away, all his love, all his essence reached out for Crowley. The pleasure fractured him. Cracking him open, leaving him floating in a sea of bliss. He had never felt so complete, so content so whole.

When he finally felt the world right itself, he tried to open his eyes. He couldn’t just yet. He was panting. Funny thing he thought as they didn’t need oxygen. 'Probably a grounding thing, steadying the nerves.' He felt weightless still. Limbs struggled to keep himself up. "That is odd. I had been laying down. When did I come to be on my hands and knees?' He opened his eyes. He looked down on himself.

He reared back falling off of the bed. “What in Hell!” he scrambled to his feet. He, or rather his body, considered itself. Then looked at him.

“Uh, Aziraphale?” his voice. ‘Was he dreaming?’

“What is going on?” he looked down. His current corporation that of his demon. “Good Lord.”

“Aziraphale why are you in my body?”

“How the HELL should I KNOW?” he screeched. Well, Crowley’s voice screeched. He began to panic. ‘Is this some kind of punishment. How did this even happen?’ His mind was tangles of possibilities. Crowley, in his body, crawled from the bed to embrace him. Aziraphale clung to him.

“So this happened,” he said hugging his own corporation, his angel panicking inside.

“What do we do?” squeaked Aziraphale.

“Shhh. We'll figure this out.” he stroked his angel’s, ‘well his back.’ “Before the Fall angels...well... coupled. Bonded. Perhaps we ah... Perhaps our essences slipped.”

“Bonding…” He considered the implications. Cheek pressed to his own fluffy curls. ‘There essences may have attempted a bonding.’ “Yes. The mingling of essences. I’ve never... Oh, that can’t be right. We shouldn’t...I mean. Did I hurt you?” His eyes were assessing Crowley for signs of damage. Hands clenched to his own biceps. His mind was cycling between thoughts faster than he could iterate them.

“No. Quite the opposite. The human stuff is great, more than great. But that last bit. Well. We are definitely trying that again.” His last words trailed off. 'We might not get another chance. This diversion was amazing, but Heaven and Hell will still eventually come for us. Right how to fix this? We are compromised enough without being stuck in each other’s bodies.’ “Shit.” he paced back towards the bed.

Aziraphale looked at his own face in alarm. “What, what is it. Oh, I don’t think I can endure any more surprises at the moment.” He sank back on the bed.

“Choose your faces wisely. For soon enough, you'll be playing with fire.”

“Fire” the last word was said in unison. Looking at one another.

“Hellfire.” Crowley felt his world fall out from beneath him. “They mean to destroy you, angel.”

“I suspected as much really,” Aziraphale said. He had embarrassed them for the last time.

He understood his side’s anger. He betrayed hell, but Aziraphale had second handedly, thwarted Lucifer. 'Was that not worth at least a stay of execution? Of course not. Those bastards upstairs are simply more pleasant looking demons. They could kill indiscriminately all while claiming divine rite.’

Aziraphale mulled the prophecy over in his mind. His hands, no Crowley’s wringing nervously. ‘If it was hellfire for him, it stands to reason it will be holy water for Crowley. No, he will not lose him now. Not after everything it took to get here. We can finally be together, unrestrained by our former sides. I will not give up without a fight. I am still a Principality.' He took Crowley’s hand.

“Hellfire for me, holy water for you,” he said, staring at his own face.

“Right.” ‘that makes sense.’ Tightening his hold on Aziraphale’s hand. Realising suddenly they were both rather naked, he miracled them satin dressing gowns.

“Thank you.” a pleasant smile. Then something seemed to click into place. “What if...could...” He hesitates, dissecting that line of thought. He turned abruptly to face Crowley. “If I am in your body, wearing your face as it were. This body is but a vessel. I am immune to holy water. If I was to take your place in hell. And you, my place in heaven. They could not destroy us as intended.”

“NO!” Crowley said firmly. Standing, beginning to pace.

“No? How else do you suppose we survive certain destruction?” blue eyes tracking the demon.

Crowley turned hands, gripping his, Aziraphale’s hips. “I am not having you walk into hell for me.”

Aziraphale stood. Closing the distance to wrap his, Crowley’s arms around his waist. “I will pretend to be you. A little sarcasm, devil may care attitude, and the appropriate attire. Who would suspect?”

He shook his head. “Not the point.” He grabbed his shoulders. “I am not sending you down there, angel. It is not happening.”

“Crowley please.” Hands cradled his face. “The prophecy. If we follow this plan, we will come out the other end. Free. Our own side. No longer having to hide. I want that Crowley. Don’t you?” his own serpent eyes pleading to him.

“Of course I do.” he pulled him into a tight hug. “Aziraphale I have loved you from the moment you told me you gave away that bloody sword. I knew you weren’t like those prats upstairs. You were kind to me. The enemy, Aziraphale. Knowing it was dangerous. And every moment after I fell even more helplessly in love with you. I am a shit demon. What demon feels love? This factory recall is who. Demons shouldn’t be able to feel love. But I love you. And by both God and Satan, they will not have you.”

“Factory recall?”

“What?”

“What is a factory recall?”

“Something humans do when there is something faulty with a car,” he explained irritably.

“Can’t you just miracle the issue away. I doubt there is even a factory still producing parts for the Bentley.”

“Not the car. Me. I’m faulty.” he groans. ‘I love you, you dense, beautiful idiot.’

“You are not faulty Crowley. Perhaps if you look at it as...oh what is the term? An upgrade! A demon who can love. Surely that isn’t an accident.”

“That is beside the point. And let's face it. We are accident-prone.”

“And it always works out for the best.” Aziraphale kissed his shoulder. “If we do this, we are free. We can live as we please. I will stand at your side until I meet my end. But we needn't end today. We have a chance. Please take this chance with me.”

It is weird hearing his own voice plead with him. “I don’t like it. But you are probably right.” he sighs. “Has the witch ever been wrong?” He looked into his own eyes.

“No.”

“If we succeed what then?”

“We meet outside head office. We walk away from them all.” Something in Aziraphale felt suddenly confident. ‘This was right.’

“Fine.” Crowley concedes. “Come, we both could use a shower.” He stroked his arms.

“We could just…”

He levies a stern look at Aziraphale. “Angel just this once don’t argue. It’s a shower. Need to...clear my head.” he said, looking at something over his shoulder.

Aziraphale acquiesces. They shower in relative silence. He definitely sees the appeal of this human experience too. The water warms him through. Crowley’s corporation feels odd. Everything tight and on edge. He can’t help but look over at his own body. Plump, pale, and stocky. He likes his body, though he still doesn’t see the sexual appeal. He decides to have Crowley elaborate later. They dry and dress. Crowley makes them tea.

They work out the details. Crowley easily assumed Aziraphale’s mannerisms. Aziraphale for the life of him can’t master Crowley’s swaggering gait. Crowley reassures him the demons don’t really pay him much mind. “Just act like you could give two shits. That should be enough.”

Dawn was breaking over London. “Right. We should part ways.” Crowley in Aziraphale's body says. Crowley’s body is wringing its hands in a nervous fit. “None of that. You are a demonic arsehole. You can’t let them see you sweat.”

Aziraphale stops his fidgeting. “Right. Sorry.” Crowley’s own eyes look back at him with fear. He doesn’t like seeing himself or his angel like that. “I love you, Crowley.”

Crowley pulls Aziraphale into a tight embrace. “You are my world angel. None of this means anything without you. Come back to me, safe. Yeah?”

“You as well my love.” his voice breathy, choking back tears.

Crowley kisses Aziraphale one last time before stepping back. “St James Park in an hour then?”

“Right.” Crowley’s body straightened with resolve.

“Just remember to be the bastard I know you can be,” he says, smiling at his angel in his body. He disappears.

Aziraphale takes one deep soothing breath before sliding on Crowley’s glasses. "Right, too work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	3. Come Back to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial. I wanted to explore what these two went through. I hope you enjoy. Mature language warning.

Sunday 25 August 2019  
6:30 am  
St. James Park, Heaven, Hell, and All the Kingdoms There Of.

Crowley stands outside Aziraphale’s bookshop. He had expected a chard ruin. Instead, he found a charming, if not cluttered speciality bookstore. Part of him wondered if it was an illusion to draw Aziraphale into a trap. When upon inspection he found no such influences, he entered. Everything seemed in order, though the real Aziraphale would have to pass the final judgment. He tried to focus on the dangerous plan they'd hatched. 

Aziraphale across town was trying to master Crowley’s mannerisms. When twenty or so minutes passed he figured it was time to head to St. James Park. He rode the lift down and exited the building. There, just as good as new was the bentley. The most beautiful car loved by Aziraphale’s demon. Not a scratch. Aziraphale wanted to beam, settling on an appreciative smile. He couldn’t wait to tell Crowley the joyous news. They had plans, though. 'Hopefully, there would be time after.' Aziraphale hailed a passing cab.

St. James Park is bustling with life. None the wiser, that just yesterday the world almost came to an end. Children were playing, ducks swimming in the pond, secret meetings between opposing government agents carrying on as they always had. It was a beautiful day. Yet, even beautiful days like today can’t last forever. 

“A Strawberry lolly, and uh… Vanilla with a flake, please.” Aziraphale in Crowley’s body ordered. Aziraphale really wanted the cone, but for appearance's sake he accepted the lolly. They both were on edge. Aziraphale tried to maintain that cool collected exterior Crowley was known for. 

After seeing the bookshop, Crowley had come to the conclusion that a certain former Antichrist may have corrected the tragedies of the previous day. Hopefully, that courtesy was extended to a beloved antique automobile. “How’s the car?” he asked pacing behind Aziraphale. He was a physical barrier. If Heaven and Hell came for them, they would have to go through him first. 

“Not a scratch on it. How’s the bookshop?” A smile was given to the vendor before turning to his demon.

“Not a smudge. Not a book burnt. Everything back just the way it was.” He was pleased to report this at least. It might not amount to anything soon, but at least Aziraphale had something to look forward to if they succeed. Aziraphale passed him the cone. Food comforted his angel, so he accepted it. At least for his sake. 

“You heard from your people yet?” Crowley scanned their surroundings. Looking at each person. Assessing, waiting for the inevitable. 

Aziraphale shakes his head no. “Yours?” Aziraphale hoped their respective head offices would just forget the whole sordid affair, but that wasn’t likely.

“Nothing.” Crowley felt like a cornered beast. Ready to lash out at the first sign of danger. 

“Do you understand what happened yesterday?” Aziraphale was puzzled how a burned down bookshop and bentley were now restored, whole, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. 

“Well, I understand some of it.” He couldn’t help but remember their night. That, they had sorted that out well enough. “But some of it, it’s just a little bit too-” he searched for the words. A sudden movement and he found a tight gag placed over his mouth. Hands miraculously bound. Two angels in khaki coveralls began to pull him away. 'Aziraphale is alone, exposed.' 

“Ineffable.” came a chillingly familiar voice. 

Aziraphale saw Death, in all his horror, leering at them from a distance. His stomach knotted with fear. “Oh, that-that’s funny seeing him here. That’s meant to be bad luck.” he waggles the lolly at the surviving horseman. “It’s meant to be bad…” Aziraphale didn’t get a reply. He looked to where Crowley had been. He was gone. He turned frantically searching for Crowley. He saw him. 

Crowley in Aziraphale's body was being dragged away. His eyes trying to tell Aziraphale what his mouth, bound as it was, could not. He noticed Hastur lurking near them the moment he was seized. Crowley desperately fought his captors. His angel was looking at him, not seeing the danger closing in. 

“Renegade angels all tied up with string.” Uriel recited blocking the supposed demon’s path.

“These are a few of our favourite things.” Sandalphon sneered.

“Stop! Stop them!” Aziraphale ran for them. Everything inside him was screaming. He couldn’t lose Crowley, the plan be damned. His greatest fear roared into his mind. He was going to lose Crowley forever. 'No! Please!'

“What’s wrong, love?” Hastur, masquerading as a woman, called out. The next thing Aziraphale knew he was face down on the pavement. His head screaming in pain. “Ooh, bad luck, dear.” 

Crowley saw Hastur strike his angel down. His mind broke. He fought, kicked, growled into his gag. 'Those fucking bastards. They will pay for this. They all will.' He was hauled into a van, fighting the whole way. He nearly broke free when a solid punch to the stomach made him double over. Sandalphon leered at him. The angel who looked more like a potato than a man loomed over him, snickering nasally. 

Uriel leaned in, her eyes cold. “Don’t fight this Aziraphale. Your demon is as good as dead.” She pulled his hair so she could look him square on. “Debasing yourself for a demon. You are pathetic.” She released her grip in platinum curls. “We should have done this years ago.” She said to the potato. 

Crowley was beginning to understand why Heaven seemed to put his angel on edge. He knew they were pricks, he just didn’t know they were sadists as well. He wanted to rip their throats out with is fangs. Shift into a snake and squeeze the life from them. He remembers their plan and assumes his angel’s countenance. 'We have to survive this.' 

Back in the park, Aziraphale manages to look around him. A horrid man with an even more horrid wig stood over him, crowbar in hand. That explains the pain. “It’s not a problem. It’s tickety-boo.” Despite his efforts to remain conscious, the world faded away. He was sucked into the darkness of his mind. 

HEAVEN

Crowley was escorted into heaven and bound to a chair. He checks the strength of the bonds gently. Some miraculous magic woven into the simple white rope. His anger was boiling inside him. 

“Ah. Aziraphale.” Gabriel’s voice called from behind. His footsteps loud, echoing off the stark walls. A hand landed on his shoulder in a deceivingly chummy pat. “So glad you could join us.” 'The smug bastard.' The Archangel crossed the room to stand in front of him.

Crowley stifled his anger. 'Aziraphale is kind and polite when he isn’t being a bastard.' “You could have just sent a message. I mean, a kidnapping in broad daylight.”

“Call it what it was, an extraordinary rendition.” The Archangel was far too pleased with himself. 'Keep it together Crowley. Kind and polite.' Crowley wants to rip that bastard’s smug grin right off his face. Gabriel chuckles. Calling over his shoulder to his peers, “Now, have we heard from our new associate?”

“He’s on his way.” responds Uriel, in calculating coldness.

Gabriel grins in malicious satisfaction. “He’s on his way.” he approaches Crowley, hands pressed together in front of him. “I think you’re going to like this.” 'A scare tactic to be sure.' He smiles down on Crowley with his shit-eating grin, bending forward as if he were lecturing a child. “I really do.” nearly whispering “And I bet you didn’t see this one coming.”

Goodness was a trait apparently no longer required among the Host. Crowley wants to watch these fuckers grovel at Aziraphale’s feet. 'He might just make them.' 

HELL

Aziraphale wakes in a damp dark room. His head throbbing, vision a bit blurry. The room reeks of brimstone. Well, at least he knows where he is. His hands are bound. He manages to push himself to sitting. 'No anxiety, cool carefree demon. Nobody can know. No fidgeting. You aren’t scared.' 

The door opens, and two large demons in helmets pull him into a filthy hallway. He focuses on Crowley’s words. “Just remember to be the bastard I know you can be.” 

He is brought into a room.  
Beelzebub is seated in a rather uncomfortable looking chair. Their feet barely able to touch the floor. Hastur, accurate to Crowley’s description, is glaring at him from the Prince’s left. Dagon, all teeth and glistening scales to their right. Aziraphale notes an observation window, a tub just in front of it, and dozens of demons clambering for a better vantage point. 'Demonic arsehole, carefree bastard.' 

“Hey, guys. Nice place you got here.” at least he was able to parrot Crowley’s nonchalant tone. 

Hastur grinned at him. “Not for you it won’t be.”

'Demonic arsehole.' “Could do with some house plants. Maybe a coffee table.”

“Silenzzze! The prizzoner shall approach.” Beelzebub's voice echoed in the chamber,

“Love to.” 'casual as you please.' “Sooo, four of us.” none of this is terrifying. “Rubber of bridge? Barbershop quartet?”

“The trial of a traitor,” they say in mocking delight. 

“Lord Beelzebub, you are…?” 'mock them, sarcasm, you are a demonic bastard.' 

“I am the judge,” they respond, clearly annoyed. 'Good, keep it up. Vex them. Crowley knows how to be quite vexing at times.'

“And I’m the prosecutor.” Hastur tries to be intimidating. Even from this distance, Aziraphale can smell the repulsive scent of excrement, coming off the demon. Who seems to have a penchant for horrible wigs. 'Poor creature on his head must suffer so.'

Aziraphale looks to Dagon, back to Beelzebub, before returning to The Lord of the Files. “And so Dagon here is defending me?”

“Oh, I am afraid not. No, I’m just here in case there’s anything you’ve done that they forgot.” this one smelled of rotting fish. They all smelled abhorrent. His demon scent was so pleasant and intoxicating, which he was very appreciative of. Crowley was also far more pleasant to look upon as well. He wondered at this. 'I will have to remember to compliment him on this, later.'

“But we built this place for you specially. It shall be your place of trial . And it shall be your place of destruction.” Beelzebub informs, another attempt to intimidate him. 'Mock them, this doesn’t scare you.'

“Guys, you shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble. What appears to be the problem?” 

Hastur listed out Crowley’s offences to Hell. Aziraphale has to admit he finds most of them rather endearing. Several times during Hastur's winded dissertation Aziraphale had to bite back a giggle. 'My sweet demon. Yet another thing to compliment him on.' He might be the only one to appreciate Crowley but appreciate he does. And if they survive this he will make every effort to show him. 

“...and the murder of a fellow demon, a crime I saw with my own eyes.” Hastur finishes. He droned on for so long it had clearly bored the Prince; Aziraphale noted they smelled of putrid flesh. He would have the scent of decay and brimstone in his nose for weeks. 

“Creatures of Hell,” Beelzebub calls out, irritation in their voice. Aziraphale looks behind him. 'Carefree demon, unaffected bastard. Brave, handsome, hypnotically alluring demon.' “You have heard the evidence against the demon known as Crowley. What is your verdict?” 

“Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!” voices chant from behind the glass. 

“Do you have anything to say, before we take our vengeance on you?” Beelzebub provides in mocking courtesy. Aziraphale is surprised to find even that in Hell. 

Fear began to settle in. If it isn’t to be holy water he wasn’t sure what to do next. 'Brave, be brave.' Aziraphale shrugs. “Mmuh... What's it to be?” 'don’t let them see you sweat.' “An eternity in the deepest pit?”

“No, we’re going to do something even worse. Letting the punishment fit the crime,” growled Hastur. 'Brave, uninterested demon. Don’t let them see you sweat.'

There is the sudden ding of a lift that draws everyone’s attention. Michael, in all white exits. A glass pitcher of holy water in hand. Aziraphale heart flips. All fear and anxiety evaporate. 'Bless you, you beautiful astounding witch. I shall have to bless that descendant of yours. Don’t smile. Look terrified. They want to scare you, destroy you.'

“The archangel Michael? That’s unlikely.” 'Both sides are working together?' Part of him wonders now why exactly Heaven is so angry. 'I told them of my plans to avert the apocalypse. Reported on my progress regularly. If that was treason, why had they allowed me to interfere in the first place?' He would have done it regardless. 'It isn’t treason if your superiors know and approve of the plan.' And now, seeing Michael assisting in Crowley’s execution, they were all consorting with the opposition as well. 'This is all very hypocritical.' He really wanted to be home at his bookshop, in Crowley’s arms. 

“Cooperation with our old enemies,” Dagon informs. 'Well obviously.'

“Well, wank-wings, you brought the stuff?” Hastur croaks. Michael doesn’t react to the insult.

“I did. I’ll be back to collect it.” she offers the pitcher to Hastur.

“No, I think perhaps you ought to do the honours. It’s…” he sucks in a breath between teeth. “I’ve seen what that stuff can do.” He is clearly nervous. 'That’s right foul-smelling Duke squirm.' Aziraphale is suddenly really looking forward to what is coming. Being a demonic bastard suddenly feels quite easy to mimic.

Michael begins to pour holy water into the tub. The demons behind the glass recoil, gasping that their own destruction is only shielded by the partition. 'What fun.'

“That’s holy water,” Aziraphale asked, already knowing the answer. 'Look scared. They want you scared.'

“The holiest, yes,” she responds voice light and breathy. 

“Uh, it’s not that we don’t trust you, Michael, but obviously we don’t trust you. Hastur.” Beezlebub appears to be the only demon not affected by the weapon in the room. Or at least best at not showing it.

“Hmm.” Hastur turns to the Prince.

“Test it.” they roll their eyes. 

Michael leaves the way she came. Hastur goes over to a little demon. He looks like a small balloon-shaped dragon. Hastur grabs the little fat thing by his stunted legs. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Oh ow!”

Hastur carries the demon to the bathtub. “Ahhuh.”

“No. No, no, no. What have I done?” The little demon pleads. Aziraphale is again questioning the hypocrisy of their head offices. 'They mean to allow Hastur to destroy this little creature. Had they not sentenced Crowley for this very act? Crowley was defending himself. This demon had done nothing to earn this cruel fate.'

“Wrong place. Wrong time.” Hastur informs the little demon. 

“No! No! Please! Please! PLEASE! NO!” The demon shrieks.  
Hastur drops him into the bath. The demon struggles, screaming in agony as he dissolves. Aziraphale is horrified. 'That could have been Crowley.' 

“Demon Crowley. I sentence you to extinction by holy water. Have you anything to say?” 

“Well, yes. Um…” 'Demonic arsehole. Mock this farce of a trial.' “This is a new jacket and I’d hate to ruin it. Do you mind if I take it off?” 'Crowley will probably appreciate his clothing not being soiled. 'We made plans to celebrate after all.' 

HEAVEN

“You don’t get this view down in the basement.” Crowley watches as one of the disposable brings in a bowl of hellfire. The little demon tosses the fire at a ring of stones on the floor. A column of swirling fire rises up. 'Perfect.' Crowley only hoped Aziraphale was swimming safely in a pool of holy water. 

The little disposable demon placed the bowl on the floor. He looked from Crowley to Sandalphon. “Can I?” The lesser demon searching for a polite way to ask. “Can I ask you a favour? Can I hit him?” He was watching for any sign of anger from the superior beings. When he was met with flat indifference he grew a bit bold. “I’ve always wanted to hit an angel.”

“Go for it.” The potato answered through his sinuses. 

The disposable demon was emboldened. He nearly pranced over, standing a few steps in front of Crowley. ‘You would let a disposable rat put his filthy hands on one of your own? On my angel?’ His rage was hard to force down. He studied the floor. He couldn’t lookup. Aziraphale was never a being to take pleasure in shredding another, no matter how insignificant. Yet, sitting bound to a chair, he couldn’t fully keep up pretences. He looked up at the gleeful little idiot. He focused on showing no emotion. ‘If you lay a finger on my angel’s body I will have the seas made holy and drown you in them myself.’ This was glared at the now not so confident demon. His eyes understood the unspoken threat. Crowley couldn’t help but give a near imperceptible smirt. He sees fear blink across the demon’s face. ‘Scurry back to your masters little rat.’

“I should be going back.” The little demon said. Eyes locked on Crowley as if he would spring from his seat and rip into his throat. Crowley cooled his anger and reasserted his angel’s air. The demon left him with the three tossers. 

“So, with one act of treason, you averted the war,” Gabriel said filling the uneasy silence that had taken over the room.

“Well, I think the greater good…” Crowley began mimicking one of Aziraphale’s rants. 

“Don’t talk to me about the greater good, sunshine. I’m the Archangel fucking Gabriel.” 'Titles don’t make you good, actions do. Protecting the weak, showing mercy, giving without a thought of reward, showing kindness when you have been given anything but.' His angel was good in a way he was only starting to truly understand. A bastard to be sure, but compared to this lot he was better than the whole of them. 

“The greater good was we were finally going to settle things with the opposition once and for all.” The purple-eyed fuck continued. 

Uriel steps forward, wanting to appear intimidating. She may be an Archangel but Crowley really wants to have a go at her. 'Might get a few good jabs in before getting smote.' Uriel gives a slight tug at his bindings. He half expects to be attacked. “Up.” 'Fuck you too.' 

Crowley stands, stretches his arms. Adjusts his jacket and bow tie just so. 'Aziraphale, kind, sweet Aziraphale and his fastidiousness.' “I don’t suppose I can persuade you to reconsider?” no answer. “We are meant to be the good guys, for Heaven’s sake.” That’s amusing a demon reminding Angels, Archangels, to be good.’ If he wasn’t so angry he may have laughed. 

“Well, for Heaven’s sake, we are meant to make examples out of traitors. So...into the flames.” 'Traitor? Weren't they all traitors to God for going against her ineffable plan? Wonder if there will be another mass falling? Would pay a king’s ransom to watch these three take a sulfur bath.'

“Right.” 'Be charming. Aziraphale is kind, polite and charming.' “Well...lovely knowing you all.” He tries his hand at that brilliant smile. “May we meet on a better occasion.”

“Shut your stupid mouth and die already.” Gabriel smiles a mocking smile. Which quickly fades into an annoyed grimace. 

'Fuck you all. You self righteous twat.' His restraint is only still in place because the plan is working. He smiles because that is what Aziraphale would do. 'Oh, I am going to enjoy this, you smug son of a bitch.' He steps into the flames. 

HELL

Aziraphale is basking in the holy water, splashing, very much living up to his bastard title. The moment those two demons, who escorted him in, lowered him into the holy water, and he didn’t dissolve into goo, the room fell silent. He for his part could only laugh. The two demons ran from the room. Leaving him once again with the Prince and two dukes. “You could have at least warmed it up.” he groused. He went back to absently flicking the water. 

“I don’t suppose that anywhere in the nine circles of Hell there’s such thing as a rubber duck?” He looks towards Beelzebub. Finally that cool exterior cracked. “No?”

Aziraphale hums absently to himself. Flicking holy water out of the tub. Hearing it sizzle as it hits the walls and floor around him. He is rather enjoying this. 'Mischievous. That’s what my beautiful demon is, not evil.' And right now he understands the appeal. 'Wonder if anyone has ever enjoyed Hell before? First time for everything.' 

“He’s gone native. He isn’t one of us anymore” Beelzebub stares at him in horror. A Prince of Hell terrified of a lesser demon, well Angel in a demon’s skin. 'What a novel idea.' 

Aziraphale flicks water at the observation window. Delighting as the demons cower away. “So, you’re probably thinking,” he sits up to look at the Prince. “if he can do this, I wonder what else he can do?” He lowers Crowley’s voice to that smooth purr he finds so alluring. More for his benefit than anything else. Every demon in attendance is already intimidated by the spectacle. 'As well they should be.' “And very, very soon, you’re all going to get the chance to find out.”

“Ehhh. He’s bluffing. We can take him. One demon against the rest of Hell? What’s he going to do?” 'Clearly, Hastur isn’t a clever demon. I am currently sitting in a liquid indestructible shield. No need for oxygen, I could stay submerged indefinitely. I can destroy any demon foolish enough to get close with a flick of my wrist.'

“Shut it. Get him out of here, this’ll cause a riot.” They curtly cut the Duke off. They address the demons beyond the observation window. “What are you all looking at? Nothing to see. Nothing to see here.” Aziraphale splashes the window for good measure. ‘Fear him. Crowley is to be left alone.’

Michael finally returns, smugness masked beneath her typical collected expression “I came to bring back the…” Her eyes widen in terror. 'Good.' “Oh, Lord.”

“Michael! Dude. Do us a quick miracle, will you? I need a bath towel.” He has never seen the Archangel so shaken. 'Fear him.'

Michael produced a large white towel. She hands it to the supposed demon without another word. 

“I think it would be better for everyone if I were to be left alone in the future. Don’t you?” They all nod. Beelzebub refusing to make direct eye contact, but keeping the threat insight. “Right.” He scrunches his face and gives them a smug smile. 'That's right, he is not a demon to be trifled with.'

Bath time over. Aziraphale climbs from the tub, towel over his shoulder, dripping wet. Might be prudent to remain wet until he is in the lift. 'Don’t want to risk being captured again.' He picks up Crowley’s leather pants, silk shirt, jacket, boots and tie. Aziraphale gives them all a dramatic bow then turns towards the exit. Before he steps into the punctual lift he flips them all his middle finger. He had secretly always wanted to do that. Once the doors close he finally sighs his relief. If everything goes well for Crowley they are free. He will only truly feel better when he can see his love safe, in his arms. 

HEAVEN

Gabriel winces as Crowley enters the fire. The look you give a disgusting creature meeting a disturbing end. 

“Ahh…” 'This feels wonderful.' He cracks his neck. 'Nothing like immersing one’s infernal soul in hellfire. Very invigorating. I will have to take Aziraphale for a day at the spa.' “Mmm…”

Gabriel, Sandalphone, and Uriel watch in horror. A sudden idea makes him want to chuckle. 'I bet you didn’t see this coming you prick.' Crowley spits fire at them. When they cower back, he wonders if angels are capable of shitting themselves. He hopes so. 'That’s right you fuckers, fear him.'

“It may be worse than we thought,” Gabriel says to the others. 

“What is he?” Uriel seems to be in shock.

Gabriel shakes his head. Crowley hopes he is questioning his life choices. The more they fear Aziraphale the better. No angel would approach another angel who could destroy them with infernal fire.

Crowley steps from the fire. “Well, wasn’t that a treat. Anyone care for some sushi? It’s on me.” He gives them that sweet innocent tone. The one his angel uses when he is pleased with himself. The look on the faces of the slack-jawed Archangels and potato was worth every second of his Fall. “No? Pity.” He straightens his tie and smiles. “Please don’t stand on formality. I will see myself out. Good Day to you all.” Crowley leaves thoroughly pleased with himself. He hopes his angel faired just as well. 

Crowley’s lift dings as it reaches Earth. The doors slide open and he exits. They had agreed to meet at Green Park. Crowley wanted to linger a bit longer. His ordeal had been rather straight to the point. He imagined Hell would make a great show out of his execution. Perhaps Aziraphale was already at the park. Perhaps he was being tortured for Crowley’s deeds. He couldn’t let himself think that way. 

There was another ding and Crowley turned. There in the lift was his body, zipping up his pants. An eyebrow was cocked. His own face said ‘I will smite you where you stand.’ 

Aziraphale came to stand next to his demon. He couldn’t understand why Crowley insisted on wearing such tight pants. They were near impossible to wiggle into. “I’ll have you know holy water baths are cold.” His face failed to suppress a smile. 

“Come on demon, let's get you warmed up.” They did as Aziraphale had said. They walked away from their head offices free. Crowley sent a thankful prayer up to that silent but present being watching over everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	4. The Very First Day of the Rest of Our Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ritz and some, well, experimentation.

Sunday 25 August 2019  
12:00 pm  
Green Park, The Ritz, and a Bookshop.

The day was still lovely. Autumn was approaching, but for today it was still pleasantly warm. Human’s went about their lives. Always in a rush. Never stopping to appreciate such a perfect day. The only two beings seeming to take note were an angel and demon, sitting together on a bench.

“Do you think they’ll leave us alone now?” Crowley asked still scanning their surroundings. He didn’t even attempt his angel’s rigid posture.

“At a guess, they’ll pretend it never happened.” Aziraphale knew how concerned Gabriel was with appearances. Heaven would probably spin it as Aziraphale being granted clemency after repenting.

“Hmmm.” 'Wishful thinking angel. My lot will continue to scheme.'

“Right. Anyone looking?” Aziraphale asked. He was ready for the charade to come to an end. 'The pretence of being Crowley is exhausting.'

Crowley focuses his mind. Pressing his fingers to his temples for extra flare. He searched through the park, the sky above and the earth below. “Nobody. Right. Swap back, then.” Crowley extends his hand. Aziraphale takes it. The first sensation is a slight static charge. It prickles and skips off of each other's essence. Aziraphale pushes forward first, though Crowley is right behind. They dance past each other, lightly pressing in, just before reverting to their own corporations. The last press sent a shiver through Aziraphale. A promise, spoken through action, of what was to come.

Crowley wasn’t certain how Aziraphale felt about daylight displays of affection. When they held hands there was hardly a soul to take notice. He diverted his mind away from the subject. “A tartan collar. Really?”

“Tartan is stylish.” Aziraphale was affronted. 'Yes, we have very different opinions, when it comes to fashion. But tartan has been in vogue since 1725, for Heaven’s sake.'

Crowley exhales exasperatedly. Of course, his angel probably had something to do with tartan's creation. He did like the way Aziraphale looked in anything he wore. However, tartan on him was like Aziraphale in black leather. Tempting but not who they were. 'Pale blue leather on the other hand… I should probably stop there.'

“So, Agnes Nutter’s last prophecy was on the money.” 'We are free. Free to do as we please.' Aziraphale intended to take full advantage of his freedom. “I asked for a rubber duck, and made the Archangel Michael miracle me a towel.”

They both laugh, Crowley’s reminiscent of a duck. 'There will be no living with him after this.' 'What I would have given to see Beelzebub’s face. Watch Hastur cower like the globulous frog shit he is.

“They’ll leave us alone...for a bit.” he takes a deep breath. 'We may not have forever. So we will just have to live every moment as if it were our last.' A notion struck him. 'Heaven and Hell in cooperation? That is a dangerous thing. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and what have you. They will still want war. Though maybe the target of their anger has changed.' “If you ask me, both sides are going to use this as breathing space before the big one.”

“I thought that was the big one.” Anxiety began to stir within him.

'It made sense. Lucifer Fell because he got his knickers in a twist, over the humans. Humans that averted their war, refused Her gifts, destroyed Her creation. Humanity was an easy target. Weak, no magic to call upon. The only advantage humans had was their numbers.' “No. For my money, the really big one is all of us against all of them.”

“What?” 'The implications.' His heart crashed into the pit of his stomach. “Heaven and Hell against...humanity?” 'They wouldn’t. Well, they could. It is the kind of mindless carnage they were looking for. With the added benefit of few losses.'

He heard the anxiety in his angel’s voice. 'Smooth Crowley. Give your angel a panic attack. Not like he wasn’t smacked across the skull with a crowbar, dragged to hell, and threatened with execution. You brooding moron. Aziraphale needs to put that behind him. Not have some demon give him a new set of worries. Food? Sex?' He leaned back, legs spread as much an invitation as his words. “Right. Time to leave the garden. Let me tempt you to a spot of lunch?”

“Temptation accomplished.” said with a happy wiggle.

'Could my angel be any more adorable? Might just have to stick around to see. What’re another 6,000 years?' His body language clearly being ignored, or missed entirely. They chuckle.

One little frivolous miracle. “Hmmm...What about the Ritz? I believe a table for two has just miraculously come free.”

“Ahhh…” They hadn’t been in eleven years. 'Perfect way to celebrate a job perfectly cocked up.'

They walk to the Ritz, which isn’t far from Green Park. Crowley wonders if this was why Aziraphale had suggested it. Crowley respectfully kept his hands to himself. That was until a certain angel decided he was having none of that. A hand fished his own from his pocket. “Have I ever told you how delightful you smell, my love?”

Crowley could still smell Hell and all the revolting odours thereof on him. “I smell like a pit. Sulfur and rot.”

Aziraphale was even more thankful for the switch. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to stomach food if they hadn’t. Though he was certain what Crowley smelled was just the lingering memory trapped in his nose.

“No my love. I have never associated your smell with Hell. It is a bit more earthly.” he cast a smile at his beautiful, sweet, delicious demon.

The table was waiting as expected. They were seated immediately. Food was ordered, the entirety of the dessert menu, Crowley noted. Their waiter opened the champagne. As the boy finished pouring Aziraphale’s glass he took it and turned to a rather contented looking Crowley. “I like to think none of this would have worked out if you weren’t, at heart, just a little bit of a good person.”

Crowley didn’t get defensive, he didn’t glower. He did turn his head to lovingly gaze at his angel. 'He seems so happy.' Crowley couldn’t help but smile. “And if you weren’t deep down, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.” The unspoken meaning made Aziraphale blush. 'The flirt.' He could hardly look at Crowley. He may be wearing his glasses but Aziraphale could see Crowley was trying to hide his amusement. “Cheers. To the world.” 'You are my world.'

Aziraphale could hear the love in those words. It made him feel like he was floating. “To the world.” 'As you are mine.' They both drank to their future together. The endless possibilities before them.

Aziraphale leans in and places a hand on the table. “You should have seen the way Hastur, Dagon, and Beelzebub looked. When they lowered me in the holy water the room was silent. Michael looked at me like I had sprouted a second head. It was very amusing.” He took a bite of one of the many confections on the table. It was sinfully decadent. Aziraphale’s sigh of pleasure was not lost on Crowley. “I have to say. The trial was a bit of a farce. I suppose I shouldn’t be all that surprised.”

Aziraphale begins to detail the events of the trial. Crowley has to focus on not shattering the champagne flute in his anger, barely able to keep his expression relaxed. 'Hell gave me a trial. What had Heaven given you angel? Cruelty. Told to shut up and die. They treated you like a pest to be mocked and destroyed. The trial may have been just a bit of theatre, but at least there was one.'

Gabriel’s callous delight in mocking and killing his angel made him see red. He will not tell Aziraphale how cruel they were. He may no longer be welcome in Heaven, but the knowledge other angels were getting off on his death would do Aziraphale no good. 'May Satan have them.'

“I may have gotten a bit carried away at the end there.” Aziraphale looks over at Crowley who looks lost in thought. “I may have implied that you are quite powerful. That, beyond immunity to holy water, you have gained other abilities.”

An eyebrow cocked over the rim of his glasses. “I may have breathed hellfire at your former boss.”

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. “Like some kind of dragon?”

Crowley smirks. “Well fire breathing snake anyway.”

“Was...w-was he…” Aziraphale stammers over the question.

“I think he might need a new pair of trousers.” 'One can hope.' “He nearly fell over the potato.”

“Potato?”

“Yeah, bald chap, with something in his teeth.”

“Sandalphon.” Aziraphale had to admit Crowley was adept at descriptions.

“Yeah, i’em. Gabriel grabbed his hand and everything. Think they have something going on?”

“Not likely. Sandalphon has a penchant for smiting. Not sure if one could call him sentient, really.”

“Ha!” Crowley likes this new side to his angel. Badmouthing his former superiors. Old Aziraphale would have scolded him for referring to the little knob as a root vegetable. Crowley reaches out and takes the hand resting between them.

The champagne is finished and the empty plates are taken away. Aziraphale is revelling in the warmth of Crowley’s hand. ‘If I profane with my unworthy hand. This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this. My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand. To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.’ He tightens his grip. ‘And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.’ He looks longingly at Crowley’s lips. How many times had he denied his desire to kiss those lips? ‘O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray, grant thou, lest faith turns to despair.’

Crowley turns and sees Aziraphale staring at him. Eyes filled with desire. Aziraphale brings Crowley’s hand to his lips and kisses the knuckles. Crowley figures PDA is all well and good for Aziraphale.

He leans to whisper in his angel's ear. “Feeling a bit amorous I take it.”

“I love you dearest.” he breathes out.

“I love you too, angel.” He tightens his grip on that perfect hand.

“Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take.” he kisses Crowley tenderly. Freehand coming to cup his angular jaw. He feels the world spiral away.

“M’not complain’n angel. But I think we have an audience.” They did in fact. A woman in the corner jabs her husband who looks repulsed. A group of pensioners start chattering about the lovely couple. One among them places a bet they will be married within the year. Their waiter is clearly avoiding staring.

“Bookshop?” Aziraphale asks. His blue eyes have darkened with longing.

“Bookshop.” Crowley agrees. 'Far too eager by half, but what the Hell.'

Crowley waves the waiter over for the check. The boy finally allows his eyes to settle on the two. Crowley pulls a substantial amount of cash from his pocket; handing it to the boy. The young man makes to protest. Crowley waves him away and stands, hand extended to his angel with a warm smile.

Aziraphale can’t help but blush. 'Crowley is always so dashing. Such a gentleman.' He takes his hand. 'Let the world see. Let Heaven and Hell see. Let Her see.' Crowley presses a kiss to his temple and guides him from the restaurant.

The sun is beginning to set as they make their way down Piccadilly towards Soho. Crowley was happy and he couldn’t help but smile. His angel was happy, safe, and at his side. If the Almighty had planned it this way all along he couldn’t say. What he did know was every painful uncertain step on the road that led him to exactly this moment, was worth it. 'Aziraphale is worth everything.' When they turned on Carnaby St. his heart leapt into his throat. His angel hadn’t seen the restored shop. Crowley, gave a certain cosmic mother figure a silent thanks, for being able to witness this moment. And there it was. He looked to Aziraphale. His eyes already glistening with tears.

“Oh thank the Almighty,” he said curling into Crowley’s side.

“Thank Adam. It’s his doing,” he said holding his angel close.

“I might just do that.” he chuckled. Though he isn’t sure what gift could equal saving the world, defeating satan, restoring priceless possessions, and opening a path to their freedom.

Crowley escorts him across the street. Aziraphale’s mind suddenly doing an inventory. Hoping everything is in order on the inside as well. Crowley opens the door and ushers him in. Aziraphale refuses to shed a single tear until he has a look about.

Fingertips brushing lightly over a book spine here, a scroll there. Everything, well not quite everything was as it should be. There were a couple of new additions to the collection. 'I will just have to keep them as a souvenir.'

“Everything seems to be in order.” he took one last look before turning to his demon who was watching him intently. Tears did flow. It was all too perfect.

“Want to continue the revelry?” he asked with a particularly mischievous grin. He didn’t mind these tears. That look of unbridled joy made somehow more beautiful.

Aziraphale crossed the distance between them. Standing just before his demon, head tipping back, as he leaned in. “Certainly love.” He pressed their lips together and melted into the kiss. A soft warmth cascaded over Crowley. Crowley groaned as it settled inside of him. When Aziraphale withdrew Crowley was still floating on the sensation. “Would you care for some wine dear?”

“Yessss” his hiss slipped at the end. Aziraphale gave another quick peck before heading toward the back room. Hopefully Adam Young didn’t forget his second favourite collection, wine and spirits.

They were there just as they should be. Aziraphale poured them both generous portions, handing Crowley a glass. “To old friends, new beginnings, and hope for things to come.”

“Cheers.” Crowley raised his glass in salute before clinking it with Aziraphale’s. He took a gulp crossing to his usual perch on the sofa, left arm resting over the back. Sunglasses were banished to jacket pocket. Aziraphale considered his options and decided his demon looked rather inviting. He sat and nestled himself to Crowley. His demon’s arm came to hold Aziraphale closer to him. 'I am quite getting used to this. Though it is no less thrilling each time.'

“This is lovely.” Aziraphale sighed, letting his body relax. No tension, no anxiety. Just Crowley’s warm protective body pressed to his.

“You’ll hear no arguments from me.” Crowley kissed those starlight curls. Crowley knew at that moment, what Aziraphale did for them, keeping him at arm's length. Even if it was only this chastened intimacy. Once he tasted this forbidden fruit there would be nothing, short of destruction, that would have kept him from it. Hiding what they have would be a half-life Crowley would not have been able to endure. He hugged Aziraphale at the thought. He held a long desperate kiss to his angel’s forehead. Crowley would have never had the strength he was just learning to comprehend, that Aziraphale lived with for 6,000 years. His heart ached for his loves long cold existence. To love against reason and thought of happiness. To be true to one and live for the fleeting moments you shared. Silent, denying your own desires to protect the other. What had he done to deserve a moment of that pain? 'I will cherish you, Aziraphale.'

They drank quickly through the first bottle. Crowley drinking more than his fair share. Not wanting his angel to leave his side, the demon miracled their glasses to refill on their own. They were both quite drunk when the large grandfather clock announced the new day.

“So angel,” Crowley growled playfully. “You have been disavowed, cut loose, free to do as you please. What do you intend to do with that freedom?”

“Well, I had hoped to spend some time with this rather handsome chap.” he began studying his wine. Crowley was far too drunk to register the flirtatious tone. His heart sank.

“He is so clever and kind. He wouldn’t like me saying so. I have had my eye on him for quite some time.” Aziraphale said turning his head to look into serpent eyes. “Do you think he would be interested?” Aziraphale noticed there was pain and fear there.

“Of course angel,” he said trying for levity. “He would be a fool to not be interested.” this was delivered as if it were a eulogy. He was hurt, but far too drunk to be able to argue at the moment. They loved each other. He had hoped Aziraphale was the monogamous type. Though it was his fault for not clarifying his own desire for such. He didn’t want anyone else to have his angel’s affections. He also didn’t want to lose Aziraphale to his own jealousy. 'Bugger it all.'

“My love?” His demon looked rather put out. He wanted to kiss away whatever troubled Crowley.

“Hmmm?” was all he could respond. His eyes were betraying him. He wanted to beg, prostrate himself before the entirety of existence, and plead Aziraphale to forsake all others. His pride be damned. He was besotted with an angel of Heaven. 'God help me, I can be no other way.'

“My love, is everything alright?” he placed his palm to his demon’s cheek.

“What’s I’s name?” he slurred. 'Why torture yourself? You wouldn’t harm them.' For Aziraphale, the other would be spared his wrath. He couldn’t harm something his angel cared about. No matter the pain it would cause him.

“Who?” Blue eyes searching gold for understanding.

“The clever handsome chap.” He turned to look at the expanse of books. He couldn’t cry. 'Not here, not now.'

Aziraphale giggled and snuggled in closer. “Well, perhaps not clever.” 'Oh, my incurably sweet demon.'

“You never mentioned anyone else.” his voice was barely heard.

'Oh, the poor dear sounds so dejected. It is not kind to make him worry any longer.' He gives Crowley a little shove. “It’s you.” 'How could you worry so that there was another?'

“Yeah well...ngk...f’course. Yeah.” he stammered trying to hide his staggering relief. Now he really did want to cry. 'Bastard. That is what my love is. An absolute bastard.' And he wanted it no other way.

Aziraphale giggled into his glass as he took another sip. “You haven’t answered me.”

“Spending time?” He held Aziraphale tighter.

“That was the question posed,” he said resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder.

“I believe, I said I would be a fool, to not be interested.” he kissed Aziraphale’s curls. “And seeing as we are immortal, I just might have time.” He tilted Aziraphale’s chin into a kiss.

Aziraphale giggled again, setting his drink down. He turned to Crowley. That increasingly familiar warmth consuming him. “How about now?”

Crowley felt the wave sink into him. “Whenever, wherever. Always.”

Aziraphale turned to kneel on the couch. Crowley shifted pulling Aziraphale to sit straddling his lap. Crowley’s hands came to rest on his angel's hips. Aziraphale cupped his demon's face and leaned in for another kiss. Crowley tilted his head back, arms wrapping around Aziraphale’s waist pulling him in closer.

Aziraphale rose up on his knees so that their bodies were pressed together. One arm was thrown around Crowley’s shoulder anchoring himself. Crowley’s hands drew up his back caressing and holding him. 'I'll be damned if anyone takes this from me.' He moaned into the slide of tongue over his bottom lip. His effort beginning to stir.

The warmth pulsed and swelled. It cradled Crowley in a sea of desire and love. He groaned and deepened their kiss. Tasting Aziraphale, champagne, honey, and sunlight. “Bloody hell angel.” he groaned as a particular swell caught him off guard.

“What? Am I doing something wrong?” he said providing Crowley with some space, embarrassment creeping up his throat.

The sensation ebbed away. “No.” his voice came out strangled. He cleared his throat. “By all means keep going. Whatever that thing you do is...it feels amazing.”

“Kissing?” Could such a think account for his demon’s pleading gaze.

“No. Kissing is great, but the bloody thing…” he really didn’t know what to call it. “Feels like these pulses of...Oh, I don’t know. At first, it’s warm and feels comfortable and relaxing. But as we well...it gets stronger and hot...I don’t know. Feels amazing.” he had a thought. “Angel do you have a bed in the shop?”

“Well yes, not as choice as your own. I have never slept in the thing.” He doubted the bed would accommodate them both, even laying on their sides.

“Show me.” anticipation boiled inside him.

Aziraphale stood, with assistance from his demon. He led him out of the backroom and up the spiral stairs. There on the interior wall was a door rarely used. Crowley had given him a tour of his flat, only fair he returns the favour. He opened the door to a small, dusty, book-filled room. There, just under the window is a small unimpressive bed, covered in a wool tartan blanket, books, and more dust. Aziraphale felt utterly embarrassed now. His cheeks flushed red.

“That won’t do,” he said kissing Aziraphale’s temple. “Mind if I..." Crowley asked holding his fingers up ready to snap.

“By all means.” He hasn’t been up here since 1982, and that was just to deposit the books.

“Step back love, give us some room to work.” Aziraphale complied and Crowley snapped. The room was suddenly dust free. The walls began to expand and groan. Crowley stretched out his hand pushing his will into the building. The room which was once meagre was now large, bookshelves lining the walls. The adjoining bathroom was as well expanding to accommodate the crafter’s vision. Books found their ways to shelves. The bed trembled then turned into one big enough to accommodate an entire family. Plush pillows, soft linens, and a much thicker down, tartan duvet replaced the moth-eaten wool. The bathroom was updated, a modern shower, tub, and double vanity.

Crowley all the while moulding the small flat to his will. Aziraphale watched as he worked. Crowley seemed steady and focused. Not an ounce of nervous energy. This was a side of Crowley Aziraphale rarely saw. He began to wonder about Crowley’s role in heaven before the Fall. He had asked once, but he was rebuffed in such a way he knew not to bring it up. 'Perhaps I could now?'

The final touches were two white cherub lamps on either nightstand. One sporting a minuscule set of horns. On the left side of course. His angel was smiling. Everything cosy and comfortable. “Well, I should think that will just about do it.”

“It’s wonderful dear. Thank you.” The consideration Crowley gave to make this a place Aziraphale would appreciate made him feel soft indeed.

“Purely selfish reasons I assure you,” he smirked. That was only mostly true. Even thinking Aziraphale liked it fed his essence.

“Oh, and what would the reason be for renovating my flat? Possibly stealing some of my neighbours square footage.” He was sure Vinyl Fetish would be cross.

“They won’t notice.” he had seen to that already. “I have an... experiment I need your help with.”

“An experiment?” 'What is my demon planning?'

“Yeah. Don’t worry, if last night was anything to go by, you will enjoy it.” Aziraphale blushed so prettily at the reminder.

“I am at your service. How may I assist you?” he said in his best bookshop owner voice.

“Hmmm...let m’see.” He pretends to scrutinize Aziraphale’s face. Turning his head this way then that. Then finally tipping it up and planting a kiss onto surprised lips. The warmth ebbed back. 'Interesting.'

Crowley drew Aziraphale into the angelically inspired, demonically created room. He took his angel into his arms, large elegant hands pressing them together. 'Another roll of warmth.' He drew his fingers lightly up Aziraphale’s spine. The sensation shivered with what Crowley was certain was a response. 'Am I feeling everything Aziraphale does, in a sense? This can be useful. Right, time for phase two of the experiment. Clinical trials and what have you."

“I want to make love to you, angel,” he said moving to his angel’s jaw, licking and nipping. The warmth continues to consume him.

“Pl-please.” he moans as his earlobe was taken between teeth.

Crowley backs them towards the bed. Removing bow tie, working on buttons, cursing all the infernal layers. He loved his angel’s style, but for convenience purposes, they will have to make a few changes. He snapped his fingers resigning the confounding upper layers to the newly created closet. Aziraphale gasps. A sharp barb of desire shot through him. 'Surprised, not put off.'

“For research,” he muttered, before returning to kiss that perfect mouth.

Aziraphale feels the bed hit the back of his legs. His chest flutters with anticipation. Aziraphale sits, spreading his thighs to allow Crowley to stand between them. Though to Aziraphale’s surprise, he chooses to sit beside him. Crowley takes his bottom lip in his teeth and nips before pulling away.

“I don’t want you holding back. If it feels good, enjoy it. If it doesn’t we stop.” Crowley explains, hands undoing Aziraphale’s belt and trousers. Crowley feels several fast pulses. He thinks, deepening his voice to a low purr, “I want to watch you fall apart.” Another series of pulses. A hand clasps his forearm “Over, and over, and over again.” A sharp barb of desire and a racing series of pulses. He intentionally wasn’t touching Aziraphale. 'Pleasure from my voice, or the words?'

“Will you let me?” a light whisper in Aziraphale’s ear. 'A barb, fluttering pulses.'

“Y-yes.” he breathed out. Crowley wasn’t touching him. He desperately wanted to be touched.

Crowley groaned deep in his throat. The barb and pulses punched through him, followed by the fluttering. 'Noted.' Crowley drew Aziraphale into his side. Right arm holding him close. Warm and soothing tendrils flowing through him. He licked at his ear, nipping gently. 'Sharp barb, steady pulse.' A kiss to the sensitive skin just below the ear. 'The pulses quicken.' Freehand gently brushing across Aziraphale’s chest. 'One long wave the whole of the contact.' Nails gently digging back across. Aziraphale whimpered but pressed into the touch. The warmth turns to heat. This time several sharp barbs and a slow-rolling wave. 'Noted as well.'

“Did you like that?” he purred. 'Stronger response.'

“Yes.” he breathes out.

Crowley trails his fingers to the undone trousers. Aziraphale shivers. The pulses increase, the smallest of separations between. He pushes past the waistband of boxers, gently brushing against Aziraphale's hard effort. His angel’s breath hitches. 'Barbs, and pulses, flutters and waves.' He takes Aziraphale’s arousal in hand. 'Similar, yet stronger response.'

He begins to pump his fist, forcing a low moan from Aziraphale. 'Barbs, settling into pulses, then slow rolling intense waves.' Crowley decides to quicken the pace. Each pump is a sharp stinging barb. Aziraphale is panting, body tense pressing against Crowley. 'Heat burning bright now.' Instead of relaxing the sensations build. Pulses and barbs thrumming into Crowley making it hard to focus. He groans, swimming upstream against the urge to come to release.

Everything is hammering, screaming to reach the peak. Crowley pulls his hand away. Aziraphale gasps, hips bucking for friction. “C-Crowley?” he pleads.

'A new sensation. Oh, that ache. Not mad, not upset. He is burning, aching, pulsing.' It is so bittersweet he buries his face into curls. “Sh-Shhh. Part of the research.”

Aziraphale nods and settles back into Crowley. Crowley takes him back in hand and begins to pump his hand in earnest. Instantly the barbs and pulsing return. They rise to the peak once more. Crowley withdrawals. Aziraphale whines his displeasure. 'The ache is mixing with pulses.' “Do you want me to stop?” 'A shock of cold fear.'

“NO!” he shrieks.

“Shhh. I won’t.” he begins again. “I want to do this several more times. How many times will you allow me?” he purrs into Aziraphale’s ear. White-hot ache and barbs of pleasure nearly does Crowley in right there.

Crowley focuses his ministration. Drinking his angel’s pleasure. Aziraphale is gasping, trembling, nearing again. Crowley stops. “I need a number, angel.” The ache is maddening. A single stroke. 'A barb easing the ache for a moment, before it returns stronger.'

“F-five.” he manages to speak. Another stroke.

The ache is now just as wonderful as the desire. “Two more, or five more?” He wanted to go to ten but doesn’t want to push it. He is already burning up from inside. Watching Aziraphale in the throes of pleasure would be enough. Experiencing Aziraphale’s shared pleasure is a wonder he wants to savour. To hold him, be the cause of this ecstasy is a gift.

“F-five.” said on a whimper.

Crowley kisses that delicious neck. Whispering thank you like a benediction, hand firmly pumping. The ache blends into the sharp barbs, and staggering pulses. The peak is suddenly there. Crowley withdraws, “One.” His angel is already overstimulated. It takes almost no effort to bring him near to completion.

Aziraphale is gasping, leaning a bit forward, trembling. 'The ache is nearly unbearable.' Crowley tightens his grip with the supporting arm. “Breathe.” he purrs. Aziraphale slows his breathing, lip trembling. 'The ache lessens, pulses don’t.'

Crowley takes him back in hand, firm fast pumps. Aziraphale nearly doubles over. “Lean into me.” Aziraphale complies with a whimper. “That’s it, angel. Let me see you.” a kiss to his temple. “You are so beautiful.” The ache and barbs are staggering. Once again he is nearing the summit. Hand removed. “Two.”

Aziraphale coughs out ragged breaths. The ache punches hard. Crowley can feel himself coming to his own pinnacle. He forces it down. “Can I continue?”

Aziraphale frantically nods. A snap and they are both completely nude. Crowley goes back to work. This time the ache is stronger than the barbs, but only just. Aziraphale’s head is pressing into Crowley’s shoulder, trembling, whimpering. His body begins to tense. Hand gone. This time Aziraphale feels the sting of tears.

He is sobbing, shaking. 'The ache is all-consuming.' Crowley holds him tight. “Three. Thank you, Aziraphale.” Tears fall down his angel's face. “Do you want me to stop?” Aziraphale shakes his head no. “Would you like me inside you.” Yes, he nods frantically. “I am going to have to prepare you, love. Lay back.”

Crowley assists Aziraphale down. He shifts off the bed between Aziraphale’s thighs. He wrapped his arms under him and pulling him to the right spot. He kneels, pushing plump shaking thighs up. He bows his head and flicks his tongue over Aziraphale’s entrance. He wants to spend time worshipping the entirety of Aziraphale, but keeping him at the edge of release was making things profoundly more interesting. 'For both, I'd wager.'

His angel keens, trying to push down against the wet warmth. Another swipe of tongue and he is panting. Legs still shaking. Aziraphale is fighting every urge to let go. Crowley presses his tongue, firmly sliding up towards the painfully throbbing effort. Aziraphale clutches the tartan duvet in his fists. Crowley breaches him with his tongue. Aziraphale exhales several panting sobs. Crowley works him open in haste. He feeling Aziraphale is on the edge. He slides in a finger, thrusting, avoiding that bundle of nerves. Then a second finger. Aziraphale begins to thrash. 'Panic.' Crowley considers bringing him over the edge. Aziraphale was already so far gone.

“OUT!” he screams in desperation.

Crowley pulls back. Aziraphale is crying, shaking, muscles of his abdomen contracting. Crowley is up, holding him to his chest. “Aziraphale? Did I hurt you? I can...We don’t have to continue if it is too much.”

“F-four.” he whines, eyes still clamped shut.

Crowley smiles. 'My wicked angel is enjoying this torment as much as I am.' “Four.” he agrees. “Are you ready for me angel?”

Aziraphale nods his consent. “P-pl-please.”

“Anything love.” 'Barbs, ache, anticipation.' Crowley gets back into position. Pressing Aziraphale’s thighs to his chest. His poor angel is a mess. Tears flowing freely from pleading eyes. His lip trembling, body shaking, whimpers of need straining in his throat. “Breathe.” 'Relaxing probably not possible.'

Crowley enters him. Everything inside of him screams. 'Ache, pleasure, and love.' Aziraphale’s chest rises up, head pressed into the mattress. He is rendered silent.

“Shhh- sh. I’ve got you. You have done so well angel.” Crowley thrusts in only a few inches, before withdrawing, and thrusting shallow once more. Feeling the clenching of muscles as he does. The ache is scraping against him. Aziraphale’s arms cover his face, he is crying, sucking in air in strained gasps, hands fisted in curls. Crowley stops, gently running his hands over thighs. “Five.” He says softly. “Come whenever you like.”

Crowley thrusts in deep and hard. Aziraphale’s mind goes white, stars dancing behind his eyes. His whole body tenses. Crowley was thrusting hitting that blessed spot. He can feel his angel’s climax. Brilliant electric shocks to his essence. He is determined to hold out. He takes one of Aziraphale’s hands and holds it tightly. “That’s it, love. I’m here. I’ve got you.” Crowley thrusts through each deliciously painful wave of orgasm until they begin to subside. For a heartbeat, he wonders if he pushed his angel too far, too soon.

Then he feels it, the warmth blooming in his chest. Swelling filling the room around him. Aziraphale is smiling. Eyes closed but his face is bliss. He feels his own release nearing. Aziraphale looks glorious like this. Sated and happy. He feels Aziraphale wrap his legs around his waist and pulls him in, deepening the connection. Crowley’s thrusts become erratic. A hand is touching his face. He looks down. Two blue eyes shining at him. “I love you, Crowley.”

Those words do him in. He is coming, gasping, clinging to Aziraphale. Reality flees from him. His essence singing in exaltation. He is not sure how long he is lost to the world. Yet, as he returns fear plucks at him. “Too much?” he manages between breaths.

Soothing hands run through his hair. “No dearest.”

Crowley huffs a laugh. “I think my research is complete for the moment.” He slides free. He scoops his angel into his arms. His body is lax. Crowley climbs onto the bed. Depositing his angel’s head gently into the hoard of pillows. He lays next to Aziraphale, cradling him in his arms. He presses gentle kisses on his sweat-drenched curls. Aziraphale contented to be held, lays there near to sleep. “I love you so much Aziraphale. Part of me can’t believe this is real.”

“Mmm. Then let me be a mad man. If this isn't reality, I will have none besides this” Aziraphale snuggles closer. “But I am here, and I will always be here. As long as you will have me.”

'As long as you will have me? Eternity, the end of time and beyond. Forever could never be long enough.' “Until the end of God herself.”

Aziraphale hums in response. Crowley understood that sound. His blessed angel was drifting into sleep. He pressed another kiss to the top of his love’s head.

Aziraphale, for the first time since time began, sleeps. Folded into his demon’s arms. Just before Crowley slips off to his own repose he sends Her a silent prayer. ‘Let us have this, forever.’

Somewhere a certain entity smiled, thinking ‘The two idiots took long enough.’ She heard her favourite son and sent them her blessing. They were part of her Divine Plan. The one that mattered anyway. And for all they had done, and for all they were yet to do. They would have Her blessing. For God is ineffable in Her love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	5. Beauty in All Its Forms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley wakes with a plan, things never go to plan.

Monday 26 August, 2019  
6:00 am  
Soho

It was a perfect Monday morning. Warm beams of morning seep through a bookshop’s window. Small particles of dust undulating to the floor, catching light, turning into golden wisps. An angel smiles into his lover’s chest. And a demon breathes in his divine familiarity. Birds call to their mates in the early morning calm. Everything is as it should be.

Crowley stretches, going taught then relaxing back. Pulling his angel flush against him. “I don’t deserve to be this happy, but I’ll take it.” he pressed a long kiss to that ethereal brow. He hears a contented sigh.

“We will just have to disagree to what you are deserving of, my love. For now.” He plants a kiss against the hollow of Crowley’s throat. “Good morning dearest.”

“Good morning angel. So sleep, how was it?” He cracked an eye looking down at his lover. He was bathed in light. Pale curls and skin glowing an otherworldly radiance. Blue eyes slowly flutter up to meet his. 'God help him.' His love’s angelic nature seems to be having an effect on his demonic one. This is the most he has talked to Her since his Fall, and he is completely blaming it on the divine perfection in his arms.

“I see it’s the appeal. The waking, so far, maybe my favourite part.” Another chaste kiss to the bottom of his demon’s chin.

‘Let us have this always.’ Like a jolt of lightning, it strikes him. The most preposterous, absurd, insane, right idea he has ever conceived.

He grabs Aziraphale by the cheeks and plants a firm kiss, on alarmed mouth. “I love you.” another firm kiss. “I love you.” another kiss, tongue brushing the parted seam. “I have to go. I have a plan. So have that perfect ass ready by five.” a deeper hungry kiss. Tongues met then parted. Bottom lip drew between teeth, a sharp exquisite nip, a tongue to sooth. “I have a plan.”

A bit dazed, Aziraphale’s pitch is high. “I love you. Am I permitted to know what this plan entails?”

“And ruin the surprise? I think not.” Another firm kiss. “Be ready by five.” he shoots off from the bed. Nearly skipping to the closet to dress.

Aziraphale watches with appreciation. He is loathed to leave the warmth of his new bed. If it is evil to believe anything other than God alone is perfection, Aziraphale may just be damned. For before him, is such perfection no words are prepared to equate. “Perhaps I will open up the shop to keep myself busy.” He paused cutting his demon a coy look. Getting a scolding smile in return. “Not even a hint?”

“Yes. I love you.” one quick peck and he hurries from the room.

Aziraphale, not wanting to part with his beloved so soon, scrambles from the bed. A robe suddenly covering his state of less than presentable dress. He hurries after the retreating figure. Before Crowley could fully exit the shop Aziraphale calls to him. “Crowley a moment?”

Crowley was standing on the second step when he turned. Aziraphale was already there. He grabbed the silvery scarf. Forcefully pulling his demon into a passionate kiss. His own feet never leaving the threshold. They were forced to lean in, nearly pulling the demon off balance.

Several passers-by gasped at the display. Several others applauded. One even shouted a rather crude encouragement. Aziraphale pulled back slightly, relaxing his grip, allowing Crowley to do the same. “Good-bye, my love.”

Crowley knew full well he looked like a smitten fool. 'Let them all see.' He surged forward claiming those loving lips once more. “It’s only a few hours. Then I am all yours again.”

Aziraphale nods his acquiescence and rises to his full height. “Off you get then. I love you.”

Crowley backed into the intersection arms thrown wide. “I do love nothing in the world so well as you!” he practically yelled O’l Bill’s lines. “I love you with so much of my heart that there is none left to protest!” That should have been Azirphale’s line if this were actually for audience consumption. 'That blush is worth any public theatrics.' He took a dramatic bow before sauntering towards Mayfair. He was in such a state he didn’t even notice the small gathering of onlookers. One woman admonished her partner for lacking in such romantic gestures.

Aziraphale was moved to tears. He hurried back to their bedroom floating on love. He flops back onto the bed, rolls over and buries his face into the lingering warmth and sent left by his demon. Fire, cinnamon, cool damp earth, and sandalwood. He clung to a pillow, wishing it were five. He’s starting to believe humans have the right of it on so many things. He closes his eyes ‘Thank you.’

Crowley sauntered down the street like a man who just won the lottery. He doesn’t care who sees him smiling like a nutter. He can barely contain his excitement. If there was music he would be singing along. He felt so light that surely a good gust would carry him off. The fourteen-minute walk back to his flat seems to take no time at all.

There in all her glory is his bentley. His second favourite thing in existence. He is nearly cooing over his faithful car while inspecting her. 'Aziraphale was right, not a scratch.' “Good to see you again.” He gives the antique a pat. “We have work to do.”

He climbs in, caressing the steering wheel. A ludicrous attempt to prove to his mind that this is real. He starts the engine and the old machine roars to life. He smiles, reaches for the dial, Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s Can’t Stop Me Now blaring from the speakers. “Just like ol’ times.” He shifts into first and races through the streets.

It is four forty-five. Crowley knows he said five, but his plan had quite easily come together. He went back to his flat to pace, glare at his plants, before pacing some more. He had everything he needed by noon, but dinner was what was needed for this plan to, well, go to plan.

Now he sat staring at the front doors to where his Heaven resides. He could just hang around inside until Aziraphale is ready. Though he suspects his angel was ready an hour after he left.

He hops from the bentley. A few steps and he was at the door. He notices the shop is dark, and the closed sign is up. 'Maybe Azirphale decided against a mob of customers poking about. If he is still in bed, maybe even naked, that is acceptable too.'

The door was miraculously open. Crowley stepped inside. “Aziraphale?” The shop was indeed dark. Not even a light in the backroom.

The air felt heavy, prickling on his skin. The feeling one would associate with that moment just before being struck by lightning. Something inside Crowley pressed into that sensation, leaving him wanting more.

In hand, Crowley had a dozen roses, and an envelope containing tickets for the best box The Royal Albert Hall had. Sure the event was already sold out, but that was something for humans to worry about. The event wasn’t his thing really, but he would appreciate it for what it was worth. And to see his angel smile at him was reward enough. “Aziraphale? Love? I said be ready by five.” He called out making his way towards the stairs. Each step felt like walking in sand. The weight in the air turning his limbs to led.

Still no answer. “Aziraphale?” he calls out. Surely he hadn’t stepped out. No, he could feel him here. Everywhere to be precise. Pressed into every nook of the shop. It is dizzying as he reaches the stairs. Pressing inside of him, just beneath the surface.

“Aziraphale?” he calls out again. There is a rustling sound coming from the bedroom. 'What is he playing at?'

Crowley ascended the stairs cautiously. Aziraphale was here, what if there was another. A threat Crowley had yet to perceive. If he were a cat and not a snake, his hackles would have stood to attention. He moved silently through the upper floor. The door was slightly ajar to the bedroom. There was no sound. Crowley slowly pushes the door open. His heart pounding in his chest.

The room is sheer chaos. The bed was pushed against the wall. In its place is a mass of pillows, throws, the tartan duvet, feathers and clothing tucked in here and there, and one angel. Wings splayed out across the confusion. Laying on his side, his back to Crowley. He was clad only in a white undershirt, boxers, and tartan socks complete with garters. He was curled in on himself trembling. Whimpering almost inaudibly.

Here the sensation in the air is choking. It takes sheer will, to remain focused on the worrying situation before him.

He places his acquisitions on the dishevelled bed and rushes to his angel’s side. Careful of his wings, he kneels inspecting Aziraphale for any damage to his corporation. When he doesn’t see any from his limited view, he places a hand on a trembling shoulder. “Angel are you alright?” his voice seemed to be struggling. Was it fear, or was the air that oppressive. 'No not oppressive.' That wasn’t quite it. It was inviting, calling to him. This was different than what happens when they make love.

He receives no response beyond the continued whimpers. “Angel, please love. Tell me what’s wrong?” Crowley is beginning to panic. He tentatively rolls Aziraphale onto his back. His angel looked in pain, or was that desire? Two mingled together, worse than their previous exertions.

Pupils nearly fully dilated looking beyond this world. Crowley gently caresses his face. “Talk to me, angel. Tell me what you need.” The sensation constricts, pulling in towards Aziraphale like a star just before it implodes.

A hand touches his. Dark eyes pleading. “I need you.”

Crowley places his hands on either side of his angel’s frame. The air is pulling him, demanding him closer. Crowley bows, lips hovering just above his love’s. There is a strangled sound that pleads to Crowley’s infernal essence. Crowley gently, reverently presses his lips to Aziraphale’s. A hot electric surge stabs through him. He draws a sharp inhalation through his nose. He doesn’t understand what is going on, but something deep within him insists that he does.

Slowly he withdraws. “Help me here angel. I don’t…”

Before he could finish he had a lap full of angel. Clinging to him for dear life. Desperate sobs are muffled by his shoulder. Crowley wraps him in his arms and rocks them. “Please don’t cry. Talk to me love.”

“I need you.” comes a quivering voice. Barely heard.

“I am here angel.” he can feel every atom of his existence screaming for something he doesn’t comprehend. Fingers begin to paw at his back. Where his wings would be if they were in this world. The sobs become desperate, frustrated keens.

“Oh. Oh angel. Shhh shhh. It’s okay.” he rubs his back. Aziraphale wraps his legs around him tightly. He pulls at his jacket, tugging, whimpering. Crowley takes the offending garment off in haste. Aziraphale still isn’t satisfied. His hands take Crowley’s shirt and rips. Crowley is startled by the sudden, rather aggressive act. Aziraphale doesn’t seem to notice. He pulls the shirt free and holds it to his nose.

Crowley is utterly confused when the remnants of his shirt is hastily tucked into the pillows. Aziraphale is back on him, manicured nails digging into his shoulder blades.

'My wings, he wants my wings.' Crowley brings them forth. His angel’s apparent panic to have them subsides. Soft hands run affectionately through the glossy black feathers. Crowley moans at the touch. 'We’ll have to explore this more as well.'

The air expands again, the wood of the shop groans under the press. Crowley realizes this isn’t a feeling, this, all of it, thrumming in the entirety of the bookshop was Aziraphale. His essence calling to Crowley, demanding him to join. It is purely instinctual, at this realization, that Crowley’s essence answers his lover’s demands. Their corporations lay softly intertwined as his own essence slips free.

Finally, not with his corporeal eyes, he sees Aziraphale. His beauty in his natural form was beyond comprehension. All divine light singing an ancient language Crowley was trying to remember.

Aziraphale was nearly too much to behold. If it weren’t for his angel’s unspoken pleas, felt deep within himself, he may have shielded his eyes. Aziraphale pressed against him. Light dancing against Crowley’s darkness. Black as pitch, starlight shimmering at his core. He was hesitant. What Aziraphale was asking had never been done. He withdrew in his uncertainty.

What if their essences couldn’t bond. Bond, he knew then, that is what Aziraphale was attempting. A pair bond to join them for eternity. 'Oh, my precious angel.' “We might destroy each other.” his mind sang to Aziraphale.

“I need you.” came his angel’s reply.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” he pleaded, pulling back more into his corporation.

“Have faith.” it rang in Crowley’s mind. 'Faith, a demon?' And yet it was there without him bidding it so. He tentatively pressed forward. His essence skimming gently against Aziraphale. No burning like consecrated ground. His essence relaxed its boundaries. A soft tendril of night dipped into Aziraphale's impossibly cool light. It was electrifying, but right. He could hear Aziraphale’s accepting sigh as he began to bleed into him. Reaching, pushing against the core of his essence.

It was beyond any earthly pleasure. It was fulfilling in ways humans would never know. Aziraphale accepting him, melding with him. All emotions and thoughts shared. If his essence had the ability to create tears, he would be crying now. The true understanding of Aziraphale’s love for him was overwhelming. 6,000 years of fear, longing, desire to protect, unspoken words, all of it was laid bare before him.

Aziraphale could feel Crowley finally joined with him. His demon held such beauty within. Things too precious to speak aloud. Aziraphale sang his love, echoing through the fabric of creation. Crowley’s love was boundless, woven into that beautiful dark essence. "How could such wonders be damned?' It seemed cruelly unfair. Aziraphale opened his core, calling to his love.

Crowley felt it, he answered in kind. He pushed his core forward. Enveloped in Aziraphale. The world around them disappeared. Nothing existed beyond their joined essence. Aziraphale was as much Crowley as Crowley was Aziraphale. Both sharing and being in the other. Aziraphale heard Crowley’s prayers to Her. 'My blessed demon.' Crowley laughed at them both. 'Blessed indeed.' Both beings sang in unison to their creator. Praise and exaltation were given freely.

Their bonded essences slowly parted. Though there was a connective thread that marked their union. They retreated to their corporations with ease.

Opening their eyes gazing at one another. Hearts filled to bursting. This wasn’t exactly what Crowley had planned. This was far better. Nothing compared to what Aziraphale had just given him.

“Well. I guess you are stuck with me now,” he said pulling Aziraphale in tighter. There was something unfamiliar about Aziraphale’s form. Crowley shifted to look his angel over. 'Well, that’s new.' Aziraphale studied his face, then followed his gaze.

“What in Heaven’s name?” 'Breasts, I have breasts.' He took in the ample swell now straining his undershirt. He brought his hand up to cup one. 'Very real.' He looked to Crowley for an explanation.

“Wa’den’t me.” He said indignantly that he was being blamed for the sudden appearance of, quite generous, mammary tissue.

“I certainly didn’t” he shrieked. “At-at least I don’t think I did.”

“If you don’t like it switch back.” Crowley provided. He himself didn’t care as long as Aziraphale was comfortable. Which appeared he wasn’t.

Aziraphale focused on returning his body to its usual state. Nothing. “Confounded corporation. It won’t go back!” he was panicking. 'What if Crowley was put off by this form?' He’d never taken a feminine appearance before. Easier to blend in with patriarchal society if you are male.

“Shhh. Shhh, love it’s alright. Maybe just a side effect. We’ll figure it out.” He pulls his mate back into his arms. A thought occurred to him. His hand trailed down between them, palming at his lover's pelvis. As he suspected the new bosom wasn’t the only feminine expression.

Aziraphale noticed it as soon as Crowley confirmed it to himself. His eyes went wide. “Oh good Lord.”

“Um…” he had no idea what to say to this turn of events.

“Crowley I am so sorry. I will fix this. I…” his rambling panic was silenced with a kiss.

“Aziraphale I wouldn’t care what effort, if any, you made. As long as I have you and you are happy. I can definitely work with this until we figure it out. And if you choose to remain like this I will love you all the same.”

Aziraphale sighed his relief. 'Crowley has already said as much hadn’t he.' He lifted the band of his boxers to peer down at his new configuration. “Well. Maybe some more experimentation is in order.”

Crowley chuckled and kissed his neck. “We could. Whenever you like. Again, you are stuck with me, angel.”

“Like I ever want to be rid of you.” There was no pretence now. Crowley knew his heart.

“I had, well.” a hand slipped into his pocket, He brought a small velveteen box between them. “Seems there really isn’t much need to ask now.”

Aziraphale’s eyes are glistening, his brilliant smile shining in the din of the bedroom. “Will you ask me anyways. I had always hoped...well you know now I guess.”

Crowley smiled. He did know. Aziraphale wanted this human gesture just as much as he did. He opened the small box with a flip of his thumb. Inside was a black snake. Coiled several times. A single ruby bracketed between its body and head. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s aesthetic per se, but would remind him of who loved him most. “Aziraphale, former Guardian of the Eastern Gate. The First Charmer of Serpents.” Aziraphale giggles, supposing it is true. “Will you do me the greatest of honours, and accept this demon as your husband?”

Aziraphale did cry now. Tears he had no desire to suppress. “Yes, my love. Always. Forever.” he took the hand holding the box in his own and pressed a kiss to his demon’s lips. In one smooth movement, he rolled Crowley on his back. No argument was given. Aziraphale sat up, straddling Crowley’s hips, wiggling until he was seated comfortably. He offered the customary hand. Inviting his beloved to seal the deal, as it were.

Crowley removed the ring from its housing. He gently took Aziraphale’s hand and slid the ring into place. He brought that hand to his lips and kissed the ring, never breaking eye contact. Aziraphale's essence still sang. His wings beat in excitement. His mate, his husband, his love.

“If you don’t like it…” Crowley began to offer before said hand was ripped away.

“No! It is perfection.” Aziraphale studied every minute scale etched into the black metal. “It is you.” He looked back at his husband. “Even when we are apart you will still be with me. Though I would prefer that not be our norm.”

Crowley brought his hand to Aziraphale’s cheek, thumb caressing delicate features. “It won’t be my doing, love.”

Aziraphale leaned forward to kiss his demon when a loud knock stopped him. “We are closed,” he called out. Another series of knocks, more insistent. Crowley patted Aziraphale’s hip for him to saddle off. Crowley scrambled to his feet and darted for the door. Aziraphale again hastily miracled his robe on and followed.

Crowley swung the door open with a growl, “Wot?!” There in the darkness of the city, 'Darkness? How long have we been at it? And why aren't the street lamps on?' Two police officers studied the half-naked angry man before them. Crowley could feel Aziraphale peering over his shoulder.

“Sorry for the inconvenience sir, but we have received calls of strange lights coming from this address. Powers out to the whole area. Wonder if you might know the cause.” said the smaller officer, trying hard not to consider what activities they may have interrupted.

“I am sorry officers, we are just as in the dark as everyone else,” Aziraphale said clutching the neck of his robe.

“Apologies Ma’am. Might we…” There was a sudden screech of brakes behind them. A familiar white delivery truck stopped. Then an equally familiar delivery man made his way to the congregation.

“Evening everyone,” he said with his customary smile. “I have a delivery here for A.Z. Fell and Co.”

Aziraphale came around Crowley looking intrigued. “Just need a signature, Mum.” Aziraphale had almost forgotten, in the interruption, that he in fact appeared as a she in human terms.

“Yes, if you please.” he took the clipboard and signed quickly. Taking the envelope.

“Say I know you.” he smiled at Crowley. “And I believe I met your brother Mum. You bear quite a resemblance.”

Crowley chuckled and received a scolding look in return. “Yeah thanks and all that. Me and my uh...” He looked to Aziraphale who shrugged he didn’t care. “Wife would like to get some rest before work in the morning.”

Leslie smiled and bid them goodnight, before returning to his truck. The officers however remained. “Look if I have any information for you I know how to reach you.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the electricity was restored. “Oh, will you look at that. Probably just a frayed wire. Well, officers have a lovely evening. Tah!” he said slamming the door in the two’s faces.

Aziraphale opened the envelope. Inside was a single short letter.

Congratulations,

It has been a long time coming, but I am glad to finally see you two happy. I had hoped it would have happened sooner, but that’s free will for you. If there is anything you need, you need only to ask. The lovely American witch will be of great service to you in the coming months.

All my blessings,  
G.

“Ineffable plan,” Crowley said resting his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder so he could read the letter.

“Do you think…” he couldn’t finish that question. Their literal creator watching them...couple.

“Hope She enjoyed the show.” Crowley purred in Aziraphale’s ear.

“You are incorrigible.” he stepped free.

“Would you have me any other way?” he asked. Grabbing Aziraphale by the waist and pulling him back.

“No you wily old serpent. What do you think she meant about the American witch?”

“Book girl? Don’t know.”

“We will have to call on her. See if she has any clues to God’s endless riddles,” he said kissing his husband’s cheek.

“We can go tomorrow.” he offered, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale, careful of the new additions.

“Yes. We will have to explain all this.” he gestured to his body.

“Humans and their hang-ups on gender.” he groaned kissing the sensitive skin behind his angel’s ear.

“Yes, just so. It might be prudent for you to use feminine terminology when we are in public.”

“Only if that’s what you want. Husband, wife, spouse. Makes no nevermind to me.”

“I appreciate that, but I would rather not have to explain celestial physiology, to everyone we encounter.”

“Fair enough. Alright, wife, what the bloody hell time is it e’ny way?”

Aziraphale looked at the large grandfather clock. “Three in the morning.” 'Where has the evening gone?' “Well so much for supper.” he groaned. He was suddenly quite hungry.

“Get dressed. We’ll find something.” Crowley said giving his wife a quick pat on the buttock.

“I don’t think humans would take kindly to a half-naked man sitting in their establishment.” Crowley looked down.

“Oh, I don’t know. Might get better service.” he grinned.

Aziraphale gave him a stern look. “Be that as it may, it isn’t appropriate.”

Crowley shrugs but follows Aziraphale upstairs to dress. Crowley, upon seeing the rags that were once his shirt amongst the bedding, miracles himself a black t-shirt. His coat may have been spared, but Aziraphale nearly pounced on him, when he tried to retrieve it.

“So sorry. Don’t know what came over me.” Aziraphale still clung to the jacket.

“Yeah, sure.” Crowley resigned himself to never seeing his jacket again. “What is all this angel?” he gestured to the heap before them.

“Not sure. It just suddenly came over me. I was in bed, then I found myself making this. Couldn’t stop.” Aziraphale can feel the blush staining his cheeks.

“Looks like...like some kind of nest or som’then.” admittedly it was quite comfortable, be it a bit impractical.

“I… I can’t bring myself to get rid of it. I don’t want to.” Aziraphale looked very concerned.

“Fine by me.”

Aziraphale placed the jacket back into its haphazard arrangement. He took his pants and began to pull them on. Crowley was able to finally get a good look at his mate. Aziraphale was far more feminine than just breasts, and female genitalia. His hips were wider, waist still plump, but his breast gave him a fine figure. His features have softened slightly, if that was possible. He seemed to be emitting a soft glow.

“Confounded trousers,” Aziraphale grumbled when he couldn’t pull them past his hips. He let out a heavy sigh of exasperation. “I can not change back, and my clothing isn’t tailored to this shape.”

“I could just…” he started, but the look of horror told him he better not finish that statement.

“No. I will simply have to purchase something to accommodate my new...state.”

“And what are you going to wear in the interim? You can’t go out in that. And, you’ll be needing a bra, if you don’t want to draw attention.”

“I think I am in need of education in the nuances of female dress.”

“It’s not so bad, once you get used to it.” Crowley snapped and Aziraphale was in a sensible comfortable outfit. A loose powder blue t-shirt, fitted denim trousers, more female appropriate undergarments, and a beige oversized cashmere cardigan. Oxfords were substituted with tartan ballerina flats. Aziraphale smiled in delight.

“Oh this will do quite nicely.” he smoothed his hands over the cashmere. “Where too dearest?”

The pair found a rather good establishment that specialized in late-night service. The angel ate his fill, while the demon watched in appreciation. Both unable to reign in their happiness. All strange happenings aside, they had each other, and that was what mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	6. Where Would I Be Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley do some shopping. 
> 
> (I have chosen for Aziraphale to refer to himself using male pronouns. Others will see female and refer to him as such. Crowley abstains from gendering his partner completely. This is a short chapter. Complete fluff!)

Tuesday 26 August 2019  
7:00 am  
London

They had retired to what Crowley was referring to as their nest. Dove had been initially been used as a mocking term for Aziraphale’s apparent avian compulsion. Somewhere through the night, it had turned into a term of endearment. They slept, cradled by clouds of tartan and white. Both their scents mingled amongst the linens. Crowley had suggested sleeping in the bed, but Aziraphale would not quiet enough to sleep until they were nestled in his creation.

“Dove, you want to shop for new clothes, still?” His hands languidly carding through downy curls.

“I do, and I would very much like to purchase you a ring. It is customary you know.” He hugs his demon.

“Clothing and jewellery. Got it. Anything else?”

“I could go for a bite. Something quick might be best. Though not one of those rapid food dispensaries they dare call a restaurant.” he wrinkled his nose at the thought.

“Fast food. Your so fussy angel. What if I had my wicked heart set on a McWhatever?” He said with a taunting smirk.

“Fussy? I dare say, you know I have my standards.” He huffed. “You may have that rubbish they deign to call food and I will find something along the way.”

“Ha! Fussy. Don’t worry. No drive-through. Bentley would be pissed at any rate.” he thought about it. His spouse and his car. Spoiled, needy tyrants to his heart. Exactly how he likes it.

Crowley chauffeured them to a cafe he knew Aziraphale liked most. Aziraphale savoured several of their warm pastries, three cups of tea, and had them do up a box for their travels. Crowley chided him about what the term quick actually meant. Which got him the most adorable pout. 'Spoiled.'

Crowley figured, their first leg of the shopping excursion, was best to tackle Aziraphale’s new undergarments. He decided on an upscale boutique in hopes there would be fewer humans milling about. Aziraphale was not overly enthused about discussing his unmentionables in public.

A lovely young woman, who identified herself as Margeret, welcomed them to the shop. Crowley explained what Aziraphale needed. Then to the side, a few things he was interested in, “for my wife.” The woman showed Crowley to a seat near the dressing room and set to work.

Aziraphale was first measured. Though young Margeret was pleasant, he still found it difficult to watch, as the measuring tape was pulled around his bust. “Thirty-six D.” she informed the blonde. “Would you like to try on a few? See what you like best?”

“Yes, I suppose I should.” Aziraphale agreed, cutting Crowley a look of apprehension.

Margeret hurried off and began pulling the appropriate sizes. The redhead had insisted on both comfortable and stylish options. Lace, silk, net, straps, cotton, and satin in all variety of colours was brought to the charming couple. She popped the bounty into a fitting room and left them too it.

Crowley was idly scrolling through his phone when he heard an exasperated sigh. “Everything alright in there, love?”

“These accursed, confounding clasps.” how women got themselves ready in the morning without assistance was beyond him.

Crowley knew the frustrations bras could be, especially the first time. He stood up and went to the door. “Need a hand?”

The door swung open. Aziraphale’s eyes pleaded for rescue. “Please my love.” Crowley gestured for him to turn around. Warm hands took either side of the offending garment and with little effort secured it. Left hand slid around to grasp the underwire. The other slipped under the soft fabric, much to Aziraphale’s surprise, to help with final adjustments.

Aziraphale gasped as his breast was manipulated into place. Crowley intentionally drew his hand over the sensitive nipple on his retreat. He kissed Aziraphale’s shoulder before switching sides. This time he pressed himself against his love as he did. Aziraphale for propriety's sake was stifling his reaction, but the warm pulses rolling off of him said enough.

“You fiend.” Aziraphale scolded as Crowley hugged him close.

“Necessary evil. You have a lot going on there,” he said before planting another kiss to exposed shoulder.

They both looked in the full-length mirror. The sheer pink fabric and floral appliques left nearly nothing to the imagination. After the discovery, Crowley hadn’t seen the new additions, not fully. Like everything about his angel, they were perfect. A hand ghosted over the fabric. Aziraphale shivered in his arms.

“I like thisss one.” a kiss to soft neck. “Wonder if it is a set?”

Crowley’s lustful gaze made him yearn for the privacy of the bookshop. There was a new sensation between his legs that demanded it. Aziraphale focused instead on the task at hand. “I like this as well. Stay? Help me with the rest?”

‘How can I refuse?’ The door was closed and they began working through the options. To Crowley’s delight, the more fashionable options were favoured. Ones that accentuated Aziraphale’s new curves. Each time they stopped to admire the new brassiere, a chaste kiss here, a loving caress there and they were done. Aziraphale redressed and exited the room with their selections. Margeret was there, probably making sure nothing untoward was happening behind closed doors. She took the lot and deposited them on the counter.

Next came the panty selection. Luckily most of the selected bras did have a match. The ones that didn’t were matched well enough. Aziraphale lifted one lacy number for Crowley’s inspection. “These seem to be faulty. Why on Earth is there a slit in the bottom?”

Crowley fought back his amusement. 'You are too adorable.' Crowley snatched them and added them to the growing pile. “I will jusssst have to demonssstrate.” Unbeknownst to Aziraphale, Crowley had added an additional garment to their quarry. Just in case Aziraphale ever agreed to such a thing.

Hosiery and garters were added without so much as an explanation on their necessity. Aziraphale figured Crowley knew best. Nightgowns, a plush robe, and a satin floral one was also selected. Once they were finished they returned to the counter. Margeret began scanning the tags, folding and placing each garment into bags with care. When she was down to a few items she looked up at her patrons.

“Do you need any shapewear?” ‘Sensitive subject but a common question in this trade.’

“Shapewear?’ Aziraphale questioned. He wasn’t familiar with the term.

“You know, to smooth everything out. We have a nice selection of….”

She was cut off abruptly. “No.” the redhead looked stern, even with sunglasses covering his eyes. “You are perfection. Don’t go stuffing it away in some ludicrous girdle,” he said pulling the blonde closer.

Margeret nearly melted at the tenderness of it all. The blonde was beautiful, voluptuous in all the right ways, but she had seen women half her size insist on such things. And her husband was the one refusing, demanding she not cover up all of herself. Margeret decided then to never offer shapewear again.

Their purchases made they left. Crowley loaded the bags into the back of the bentley and they were off.

The rest of the shopping went much the same. Grabbing a hoard of options, Crowley assisting in the dressing room, kisses and caresses exchanged. Aziraphale mostly selected trousers, though Crowley did manage to persuade him to accept several skirts. One even tartan.

As it was nearing autumn most of the clothing was cosy and warm. Aziraphale appreciated this, purchasing more than his share of coats, cardigans, and jumpers. Though he suspected Crowley’s cashmere creation would be favoured over the rest.

Shoes were another matter entirely. Aziraphale needed no assistance in this department. He had always loved shoes. They spent an hour alone as Aziraphale fawned over the endless options. In the end, there was a wall of boxes in the bentley. Sensible flats, elegant tasteful heels, even several pairs of boots appropriate for the coming winter.

“Well, I think that should about do it,” Aziraphale said slightly embarrassed at the copious amount of bags taking up the rear of the bentley. There was just one purchase that Aziraphale had been fretting over the whole morning.

He had placed a call to a jeweller. Giving specific instructions on what he wanted. The man said he would get to work, and with a little divine intervention, there was no mishaps or delays. Aziraphale provided the address and Crowley drove.

Once they reached their destination Aziraphale instructed Crowley to stay with the car. He hurried inside without so much as a look back, hands wringing with anxiety. The old shop owner greeted Aziraphale, confirming this was the woman he had spoken with earlier in the day.

“Here Ma’am. It might be my finest work.” he sat a trey on the counter. There, nestled in the small box was exactly what they agreed upon. Two golden wings made the band, at the centre was a flawless diamond.

“Exquisite.” Aziraphale agreed. He paid the man, thanked him profusely, and exited the shop. The man was secretly blessed with long healthy years, success, and his son would find the help needed for sobriety.

Aziraphale was much relieved when he reentered the bentley. He turned smiling with anticipation and presented the box. Crowley smiled, took the box and opened it. He stared at the ring for a long moment, almost causing Aziraphale to grow concerned. Crowley then leaned in and kissed his angel with 6,000 years of love. “It’s you.”

Aziraphale kissed him back because to do otherwise was unthinkable. He retrieved the box and removed the ring, grabbing for Crowley’s hand. “Anthony J. Crowley, Serpent of Eden, Thwarter of the Apocalypse, my constant love, will you be my husband?”

“Forever.” he echoed Aziraphale’s words from the night before. Aziraphale slid the ring on that elegant finger and held his hand tight.

“Where would I be without you?” Aziraphale was near tears again.

Crowley pulled his sweet, fussy angel into him. Kissing his forehead. “The same place I would be. A miserable bloody mess.” He hugged him tightly for a long moment. “Right. We better get a wiggle on if we are going to see book girl today.”

Aziraphale settled into Crowley’s side, hand resting against his chest. Crowley stroking his arm as they drove towards Tadfield. Antonio Vivaldi’s I Was Born to Love You serenading them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	7. Witch's Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dynamic duo meets with a witch and a computer engineer. Perhaps a canon correction.

Tuesday 27 August 2019  
3:18 pm  
Tadfield

As Jasmine Cottage came into view, Crowley gently shrugged his shoulder to wake up Aziraphale. ‘He’s really taking to sleeping.’ “We’re here love.” He pulled in front of the little gate. 

Aziraphale stirred and buried his face in Crowley’s side. “You drive too fast,” he whined. 

“Angel, I have been driving ten miles under the whole way.” Pampered little Principality. “C’mon. Up you get.”

“I feel so...I guess tired.” he sat up and rested his head against the seat. 

“We’ve had a crazy few years.  
Bound to have some effect on even ethereal beings.” he said kissing his cheek. “Let’s get this over with.”

Crowley exited the bentley and went to the boot retrieving the bottle of wine and pastries, Aziraphale insisted were required. He ran around to Aziraphale’s side and opened the door. 'Little brat, has fallen back asleep.' He knew just the thing. He leaned and pressed a long kiss to suddenly awake mouth. “Come on sleeping beauty time to meet with a witch.”

Aziraphale groaned and let Crowley pull him from the bentley. He straightened his cardigan and smoothed down his shirt. In the process remembering he was different than the last time, he had seen said witch, mere days ago. Crowley ushered him on to the property with a hand at the small of his back. They were near the entrance when Crowley recoiled and backed away. Aziraphale turned and saw Crowley grasping at his chest. 

“Dearest?” he asked with concern. 

“Fucking witch.” he hissed. He felt the burn deep in his essence. 

“What is the matter?” Aziraphale searched the grounds for any threat to his demon. 

“The bloody horseshoe. I can’t go inside.” He gestured angrily to the glowing hot iron. 

The two had drawn the attention of the pair inhabiting Jasmine Cottage. Anathema opened the door. “Can I…” She recognized them instantly. “Oh, the book thieves. And…” She studied the blonde. She was sure the blonde was a man, but after this week who knew. “Forgive me for asking but weren’t you uh?....” There was no polite way to ask, so perhaps she shouldn’t. 

Already prepared for such lines of questioning, “Ah well, you see angels don’t really have gender. So, my corporeal form can manifest as whatever I like. Though at the moment it rather seems it is out of my control.” That came out much easier than he’d imagined. 

“Ok, what are you doing here?” This pair seemed to attract chaos. From their two interactions, Anathema was sure they weren’t here for a social call. 

“Oh. Well. I received a letter. It says...well. It seems I am to be in need of you.” he provided with a smile. ‘This is all very awkward.’

The blonde looked uncomfortable. She realized she was being rude not extending them an invitation to enter her home. “I’m not even going to argue. Come in.”

The blonde turned towards the redhead with a worried expression. The man was pacing like a caged lion at dinner time. “What’s the matter with him?” she inquired. 

“It appears to be that horseshoe." he pointed, trying to hide his worry. "It seems to be preventing him from coming near your home. He’s a demon, you see.” He hoped the news wouldn’t come as too much of a shock. 

“Yeah, could you fucking do som’thin about all that?” again Crowley angrily gestured towards the offending charm. 

“You’re a demon? Why would I let a demon into my cottage?” she glared at him. 

Crowley groaned. Human were petulant children at the best of times. “Demon yes, interested in harming you witch, no. I bloody well helped stop Armageddon.” he once again paced a path in the grass. 

“He isn’t an evil demon I assure you.” Aziraphale offered with a smile. “More of a prankster really.” The groan from behind him let him know his husband didn’t like the title of prankster. 

Anathema looked from the blonde to the angry redhead. The blonde smiled again and went back to the other. He took the box of pastries and wine with a pitiful look. The demon stopped pacing and sighed. His head bowing in some sort of defeat. The blonde rushed over and offered the items. 

“I don’t believe we were introduced at the airbase. My name is Aziraphale, I am an angel, a Principality to be specific. Former Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden.”Aziraphale bowed slightly. “This is Anthony J. Crowley. The Serpent of Eden.” He held a hand out towards the demon. Who gave a flippant wave and an annoyed sneer. 

Anathema gaped at the two. An angel and a demon. She would think such a thing unbelievable, but she knew better by now. The angel smiled again holding up the offerings. “Pleasure. Anathema. Anathema Device. And this is Newton Pulsifer.” she shot a thumb over her shoulder to the young man lurking there. 

“A pleasure. We are honoured to finally be acquainted with you both.”

Anathema considered her guests. 'They had, in fact, opposed the Apocolypse. And this demon was... friends? Lovers? With an angel. If he wanted to harm anyone he had plenty of time at the airbase, or ride home in the old car.' “Fine,” she said taking the gifts handing them to Newt. “I expect him to be on his best behaviour.” she gave Crowley a stern look. 

“I’m retired.” he groused. 

Anathema didn’t know what that meant, but turned and asked Newt to remove the horseshoe over the door. Once this was accomplished she invited the two in. Aziraphale thanked her graciously. Crowley glared at her. Though he followed the angel like a sullen puppy. 

They sat in the living room. Newton and Anathema in chairs opposite the entities on the couch. Anathema had suspected the pair that ran her over were a couple. The rings on their fingers may suggest a more formal bond. “You mentioned a letter.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale drew an envelope from his pocket. “Here we are.”

Anathema took the envelope and read the letter inside. “I don’t understand.” The angel deflated.He had hoped the witch would answer the riddle. “Who’s G?”

“That would be God,” he informed the young woman. 

“God... sent you a letter?” she looked at the angel in disbelief. 

Newton listened to the exchange, straining to see the letter. ‘How does God send a letter? In the usual post? This is all very strange.’

“Ts’more than anyone has gotten out of Her in centuries.” groaned Crowley. His arms crossing, leg flung over his knee. He was ready to leave.

“God is a woman?” she asked in surprise.

Crowley was again right. Humans were vastly far too preoccupied with gender. Genitalia was only necessary for reproduction, though it was part of human perception he supposed. “Well God is whatever They choose to be. Being the creator They don’t per se have a gender. Though most of us think of Her as a mother, of sorts.” 

“I suppose that makes sense.” She would think more on it later. “What is she congratulating you on?” Anathema asked looking over the paper in her hand. 

“Well, um. Hmmm.” how to explain, delicately, celestial pair bonding to a human. 

“We got married.” Crowley offered, taking Aziraphale’s hand. 

“Married?” that confirms the theory about the rings. 

“Yes, quite.” Aziraphale smiled at Crowley, who softened. Crowley squeezed his hand. “It seems God is approving of our situation. And you are to be of assistance. Though I can’t puzzle out how.”

“I see.” She thought about their situation. “Do...has any of… Is marriage common?”

“Not since before time existed. It fell out of fashion after the Fall, I assume.” Crowley answered studying his lap. 

Aziraphale had never heard of any angels pair-bonding before, though there were rumours of such things. He wondered if Crowley had once had an another. The bond severed by the Fall. ‘A question for another time.’ “To my limited knowledge, it is not done anymore. Well…” until now went unspoken.

“Certainly not an angel and a demon at any rate,” Crowley said smerking at his angel. 

“So...So you two?” Newt started, but couldn’t finish the question. 

“Yep,” Crowley nodded. 

“And well, I found myself stuck like this.” Aziraphale gestured to his body. 

“You two got married and you turned into a woman?” Anathema asked incredulously. 

“Well um. Nothing so simple. We um...After the um...bonding. I woke up like this.” Aziraphale could feel his cheeks burning.

“You had sex and you woke up female?” Anathema was perplexed. None of this made any sense. 

Aziraphale went rigid. He couldn’t look at the humans, who were currently staring at him. “Not sex, well... not the...uh... human understanding of the matter. A merging of...souls I guess.” This was a conversation he had hoped to avoid. 

“Okay we will pretend I understand.” she studied the angel. “Any other changes?”

“Not that I am aware,” he said, thankfully. 

“Do you want some tea?” Newt had to find a reason to leave the room. His mind still hadn’t quite recovered from Saturday. He took the box in hand and went towards the kitchen. Without so much as an affirmation. 

Anathema mulled over the information, what little there was. 'An angel and demon pair-bonded, God approves, God said I would help. What exactly was there to help? The angel being stuck as female?' A thought came to her. “I can read auras. Would you mind if I take a look at yours?” She had snuck a peek at the airbase. She knew they weren’t human, but never ventured a guess as to what. The redhead’s physical form was black mist. His aura had been streaked with vibrant yellow, dark blue, pink, vibrant red, deep red, and violet all encased in gold. The angel’s form was a brilliant cool light, same misty texture. His aura was pink, pale yellow, orange-yellow, and light green.

“If you think it may help,” Aziraphale answered for them both. 

Anathema focused. Aziraphale was still that same cool light. This time however he radiated pink, brilliant yellow, the orange-yellow was still there. Entwined around it was a dazzling ring of silver and orange. It shimmered, radiant. Crowley was also that same darkness. Now he also radiated pink, brilliant yellow, orange, vibrant red, and light green. Between them was a golden thread, linking them. It was solid yet flexible but rooted deep within each of them. 

She didn’t realize until she came back from the reading that she had been holding her breath. She let out a shaking expiration. She felt overwhelmed. “It’s beautiful. There is a golden thread connecting you two.” She was still staring between them, no longer seeing the thread, but feeling it. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“Our bond is much more finite than humans. Eternal life and all.” Crowley stated as if it weren’t the most miraculous thing to happen to either of them. 

“I see.” there was no sarcasm. It was remarkable. Two star crossed lovers bound together for eternity. “Very Shakespearian.” 

"Without the whole teen suicide bit.” he groused. He looked towards his angel. “I told Bill that part was ridiculous.”

“Wait you knew William Shakespeare?” These two could make for interesting dinner guests. The history they must have been privileged to. 

“Prat. Decent enough play write, though some of it was plagiarized.” he winked at Aziraphale. 

“Without Crowley, Hamlet would not be the beloved play it is today.” Aziraphale turned towards Crowley hand on his knee. 

“Don’t say it. You are welcome. Anything to make you happy.” The last bit fell out on its own accord. Though he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore what others thought. 

Anathema wanted to melt. Perhaps he wasn’t such a bad demon after all. The quiet was interrupted by Newt delivering a tray of tea, cream, sugar, and the gifted pastries. “How do you take your tea?”

“Two sugars.” Answered Aziraphale with a pleasant smile.

“None for me thanks,” Crowley said reclining back on the couch. They were going to be here a while. 

Anathema and Aziraphale rattled on about the averted apocalypse. Aziraphale had eaten all of the pastries brought for the humans, though nobody seemed to care. Anathema listened intently to the difference between angels and demons. Which Crowley noted was somewhat generous on his side. Probably his fault for not representing his kind’s true nature well. The events, since the Apocolypse failed, were missing the mention of their swap. They delicately discussed the bonding process. Notably, leaving out how Aziraphale ripped his favourite shirt and refused to return his jacket. When, Aziraphale appeared to be settling in, to give a detailed account of the last 6,000 years Crowley cleared his throat.

“It’s getting late, angel. We should be getting on.” He rubbed gently at his angel’s lower back. 

Outside the sun was beginning to set. “Yes. Time seems to have rather gotten away from me.”

Crowley stood first, assisting Aziraphale. “My number is in your phone. If you come up with anything give us a ring.”

“It was lovely meeting you two again. I hope to hear from you soon Miss Device. Newton.” He gave a nod to the adorable humans. He was growing quite fond of them. 

Anathema checked her phone. There, in her contacts, was, in fact, a picture of the redhead with “The Demon Crowley” as the name. “How? Nevermind. I will do some research. Though I don’t think there is really a precedence for what is going on with you.”

“It is kind enough for you to offer.” smiled Aziraphale. Newt and Anathema stood to see them out when there came a knock at the door. 

Newt went to answer. Aziraphale gaped at the same delivery man from the previous evening. “E’llo sir. Got a package here for Anathema Pulsifer.” Anathema rushed over and took the parcel. “Sign here Miss.” Anathema signed and took the package into the kitchen. 

“Oh!” Leslie exclaimed. He noticed the couple from the bookshop. “Small world i’nit.?”

“Annoyingly so.” Groaned Crowley. 'This is going to be a thing.'

“Yeah. You all have a lovely night.” He smiled before heading home to Maud. 

“Shit!” shrieked Anathema from the kitchen. Newt rushed over to her. He saw a stack of old parchment. “Agnes knew. Of course, she did.”

Aziraphale peeked into the kitchen. The name Agnes spurred his interest. “Agnes Nutter?”

“My ancestor.” Anathema groaned. “She had a box of prophecies delivered several days ago.”

“Oh?” Now the young woman had his full attention.

“I burned them,” she said flatly. 

“YOU WHAT?!” Aziraphale nearly shouts. His eyes went wide. ‘Burning the works of Agnes Nutter? Such a thing should be a crime.’ 

“I burned them. I didn’t want to live bound to prophecies anymore.”

Aziraphale was near hyperventilating. “I understand the desire to live by one’s own ideals. But burning something as important as…”

A hand gripped his shoulder bringing him out of his fit. “What my angel means is, if you come across any book, or piece of literature you don’t want, bookworm here would gladly take it off your hands.”

“Well, yes. Bookworm? Really dearest?” he cut his demon an annoyed glare.

“Good because it says give these to you.” Anathema thrust the manuscript at Aziraphale. 

“To me?” Aziraphale felt honoured, so honoured he wasn’t able to take the offering without confirmation he was meant to. 

“If you had read past the title page descendant,” Anathema read aloud.”You would have known I intended for you to give my prophecies to the fussy angel.”

Crowley burst into laughter. Aziraphale cut him a scolding glare. Crowley simply laughed all the more. “I hardly see what you are making such a spectacle of yourself for, love.” Love was said in a way Crowley knew he was pressing his luck. 

“Sorry angel. Agnes was… what did you say? Oh! On the money.” Another fit of laughter. Both Aziraphale and Anathema did not look pleased. Crowley finally composed himself to simply grinning his amusement. 

“Here.” The parchment was thrust toward Aziraphale. “Take them.”

“Oh, thank you Miss Device. I will not squander your generosity. These will be safe in my care.” He took the papers, holding them to his chest. 

“Just keep her prophecies away from me. I want nothing to do with them,” she said sternly. Newton came up to stand at her side. 

“I understand.” Aziraphale wanted to be back at his shop to study his new acquisition. He turned to his smirking husband and cut him another disapproving look. “You better be grateful I love you.” He tucked the pages under his arm before turning back to Anathema and her young man. “Thank you for being so accommodating. We best be off.”

Anathema and Newt escorted them out. Newt waving them farewell. Back in the bentley Aziraphale all but fell into Crowley’s side. “Angel?”

“I am sorry. I feel quite drained.” his face scrunched. 

“Probably just ready to be home.” 'Home?' They were bonded but Crowley hadn’t even given their living arrangements a thought. The flat was more of a home than the shop as far as layout, but the shop was where the nest was. Where they spent hours talking, laughing, pestering each other. Where Aziraphale’s horde of books was. ‘Wonder how Aziraphale would feel about moving my plants in?’ 

“Indeed. I am starving.” 'That is new.' Aziraphale felt like his nonexistent stomach was eating itself. He enjoyed food, but never truly felt like he needed it. 

“We’ll order in when we get back. What are you in the mood for?”

“Roast and Yorkshire Pudding.” Aziraphale felt his mouth water at the thought. 

“I think I can manage that. And after, we are going to take a bath.” he kissed those graceful curls. 

“That does sound lovely.” he yawned. 'Yawned? What in Heaven’s nine circles? Hunger? Exhaustion?' These were human needs, but right now he was feeling run down. 

Crowley hadn’t even cleared the village by the time Aziraphale was once again tucked into his side asleep. Ludwig van Beethoven’s It’s a Kind of Magic softly filling the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	8. Find Respite in My Embrace.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale spend a...wonderful evening together. 
> 
> (I busted this out today...I will not apologize for my twisted mind. No snakes were harmed in the writing of this fanfic.)

CHAPTER 8  
Tuesday 27 August 2019  
10:00 pm  
Soho

Back at the bookshop Aziraphale quickly has his nose buried in the pages on his desk. He meticulously takes notes, which are quickly outnumbering the actual documents. Their acquisitions brought in and tidily put into their closet. Crowley prepared cocoa before leaving his angel to be consumed by research. He knew Aziraphale well enough to know he would have ample time to procure dinner. 

Crowley returned with his bounty, glasses removed once through the door. He had gone to Rules, the oldest restaurant in London. Established in 1798, making it just a bit older than the bookshop. He had the expected roast and Yorkshire pudding, though it wasn’t on the menu. They made it for him all the same. In fact, carry out wasn’t done either, yet here he was a hamper full to bursting. Along with said main fair, he had beetroot and orange salad with goat’s cheese and mint, grilled queen scallops with orange rosemary butter, and a particularly decadent looking melting chocolate tart with raspberry compote. It was more than requested but he figured it would be appreciated all the same. 

He didn’t expect much in the way of a formal greeting upon his return. What he really didn’t expect was to find his angel face down in parchment, slightly snoring. He set the food down on the sofa and went to Aziraphale. He gently brushed an errant soft curl away from relaxed features. He didn’t wake his angel immediately, he simply looked on. ‘I am the luckiest bastard in existence.’ 

Crowley leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side of Aziraphale’s mouth. This earned him a sleepy smile. “Crowley.” was sighed in such a way it made the demon’s essence ache. He knelt beside his angel and watched as the soft smile faded back into sleep. Crowley didn’t want to disturb the scene before him. Aziraphale sleeping peacefully made him weak. His hand returned to alabaster strands. “O you, So perfect and so peerless, are created of every creature’s best. Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, Did my heart fly at your service.”

Tender sleep-filled eyes flutter open, ‘Your eyes are so beautiful. I wish you would never cover them.’ “Hello, husband.” Aziraphale yawned, stretching a bit before sitting up. “Did you just quote Ferdinand?”

“Nope. Quoted m'self. Bill took my drunken ramblings and put it in his play.” he stood offering Aziraphale his hand.

Aziraphale gave him a lazy smile before taking the offered hand. Crowley pulled his angel to standing. Aziraphale rested his head on Crowley’s chest as his demon held him close. “Come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy, That one short minute gives me in his sight.” Aziraphale intones.

Crowley chuckled, “I think we need a lawyer. Seems William’s estate owes us royalties.” 

Aziraphale chuckled. Perhaps one day they would sit down and discover just how much of their influence inspired the playwright. Aziraphale caught a whiff of something scrumptious. “Something smells divine.”

“Oh, that’ll be the food,” Crowley said releasing Aziraphale. 

"Oh, thank you, Crowley." Aziraphale placed a single peck on his husband’s lips. "You take such good care of me. This has been a wonderful day."

"Wonderful? You hate shopping, and I was attacked by a horseshoe." 'It was a wonderful day, long but good. I want a million more days like today.' The two existing in the open. Living as they pleased. Aziraphale smiling at him, kissing him, sharing the world with him. 

"Yes, well, be that as it may I still enjoyed today. And I don't hate shopping. Especially when I have such a lovely companion to assist me." 'There beside me, no fear of being found out.' It was everything he wanted and more. 

"Downgrade me to a companion, did you?" this was said playfully in Aziraphale’s ear. 

"Oh, you are most right love. How horrid of me." He clears his throat and begins again. "Especially when I have my guiding star, the pinnacle of divine expression, my one perpetual devotion in the desert of time there to provide succour." ‘I can be dramatic too, my love.’

Crowley knows he is blushing. ‘You have to know what that shit does to me. Little menace, is what you are.’ "Yeah, companion was easier to get out. And it’s infernal, not divine." Crowley kisses his angel’s cheek. 

“So says you.” ‘I know you still pray, more than me in fact.’ 

“C’mon I got your roast and pudding,” he said taking the hamper in hand. Crowley begins to lead them towards the stairs. Aziraphale stops when he realizes Crowley’s intention.

“Darling, might we eat here? I still have so much work to do.” he pouts.

“Angel, I found you asleep on your work. It is time for a break. Have some supper, drink some wine. The old witch’s prophecies will still be here when you are done.” he hugged his angel. “Besides I do believe I am still owed that bath.” 

‘No manuscript is more precious than you.’ “You are right, of course. Supper, wine, and a bath. How very domestic.” he gave a little wiggle. 

“You can never truly domesticate a snake.” retorted Crowley with a sly grin.

“No?” ‘I’ll take that bet dearest husband.’ Aziraphale stepped almost past his cocksure demon. He stops, placing a hand on his husband’s chest. He looked from his hand, to lean throat, to the quickly fading smirk. His eyes linger on that mouth he knows so well. “Kiss me, my love.” 

Crowley felt the desire crash into him. He drew Aziraphale into his arms, nearly dropping the hamper. Their mouths met, tongues entwining, echoing each other’s moans. Aziraphale took a page out of Crowley’s book and drew his lip between his teeth, before releasing. His demon looked dazed. ‘Good.’ “Come, I would hate to eat a tepid supper.” He shot Crowley a coquettish smile over his shoulder as he made for the stairs. 

‘Right food. Get it together.’ Crowley followed mind lost to later diversions. ‘Wait.’ Just as Aziraphale ascended the first step Crowley stopped. “Oi!”

“Yes, dearest?” he turned in mock surprise. 

“You right bastard.” ‘You played me like a fool. I’m impressed.’

“Well, my dear, there are exceptions to almost any rule. I am the original Charmer of Serpents, after all.” he took his husband’s scarf in hand, idly playing with the tassels. He looked coyly through his lashes at his demon. “Would you have me any other way?”

“Never.” this was growled deep in his throat. ‘Oh, you most delicious of temptations. Domesticate me at your pleasure.’

They went to their little flat above the shop. A newly added dinette was now in the corner of the bedroom, complete with a tartan table cloth and formal setting for two. Aziraphale attempted to place a candle in the centre, only to find Crowley banishing all candles in the shop away. This earned him a puzzled look.

“No open flames. Ever.” he swallowed hard on the lump of memory. “Please.”

Aziraphale studied his expression. Crowley rarely let himself be seen like this, vulnerable and scared. There was a battle going on inside that mind. “Might I ask why?”

‘You died, and I might as well had.’ “I...when the shop...I just don’t want to leave anything to chance.” he sat at the table, face buried in his hands. The fire danced in his mind. The burning pages floating in the updraft. Agnes Nutter’s book the only thing left. ‘Never again.’

“Oh, I see.” what he saw was shame, fear, helplessness eating at his demon. He saw, during their bonding, how devastated Crowley had been after the fire. His heart ached for his husband. Crowley blamed himself. In the time before Aziraphale found him, he drank himself to numb the pain. It was still there, however. He blamed himself for their fight, for pushing Aziraphale too far. Causing Aziraphale to pull away. Again Aziraphale wanted to reverse time and give his former self a proper scolding. 

Crowley blamed himself for not rushing over at Aziraphale’s call, hanging up without hearing him out. Which was silly as he was busy not dying himself. He blamed himself for not getting there soon enough. He had concluded initially that Hell had sussed them out and set the shop alight with hellfire, destroying Aziraphale, seeking their vengeance. He blamed Aziraphale’s assumed death on him being a demon. That, if he had never Fallen, to begin with, they could have loved each other openly. He had such hatred for himself and thought so little of his worth. 

Aziraphale wanted to cry for his demon, but that was not what his husband needed. He needed to hear the truth of the events. Not the twisted story he was still, most likely believing. “Crowley I think we need to talk.”

Crowley nodded, stood robotically, unlading the hamper. He set the food out on the little table. His mood had shifted so suddenly it left him at a loss. He focused on his task to avoid the pit that was trying to pull him under. He didn’t want to burden Aziraphale with his ‘Stupidity.’ 

When everything was arranged, except the tart which remained hidden in the hamper, Crowley sat. “Thank you, love.” Aziraphale took a bottle of red in hand and poured them both a glass. Crowley’s was all but forced into his hand. “Now then. Crowley, I understand you have an incorrect understanding of what happened here, with the fire. Though I am not certain exactly the precipitating cause of said fire, I do know this.” his hand reached across the table resting on Crowley’s “None of it was your fault.”

Crowley’s eyeshot up in terror. Instead of allowing his husband to stew in his self-hatred Aziraphale continues, “I had opened the communication portal. I was attempting to speak reason with the Almighty. Well, you can imagine how well that went. The Metatron is like the rest. Anyway, Sargent Shadwell let himself into my shop. I was trying to keep the old fool from getting himself killed by accidentally stepping into the circle. Turns out the exact thing I was trying to prevent him from doing, I accomplished for myself. Bob’s your uncle, discorporation.”

‘Shadwell, the little louse.’ He considers paying the human a visit to put the fear of Crowley into him. “Still, I should have been there.” Crowley diverted his eyes. Shame clawed at him. Those compassionate blue orbs speaking to him of love and tenderness. He couldn’t look at his angel. 

“Well, I didn’t make myself readily available now did I.” he tightened his hand on his husband’s. ‘I pushed and pushed you away. What more could you have done?’

‘I should have refused to leave you. We had hours before the end and I was throwing a tantrum because you wouldn’t run away with me.’ “Not the point.”

“And what is the point?” ‘Keep him talking. He needs this.’

“Shouldn’t have acted that way. Told you I wouldn’t even think about you.” ‘My last words to you. That I didn’t care enough to even give you a thought. If you had died then, thinking I felt that way. You would have died all because you fell in love with a demon, who left you to die alone, and didn’t care. You died for the sin of being near me.’ he turned his hand over lacing their fingers together, holding on for dear life. ‘I couldn’t live with that, or without you.’

Aziraphale could see Crowley trembling, jaw clenched. “And then you drove your precious bentley through hellfire, stopped time, and looked Lucifer in the face and did what?”

“E’ah.” ‘Fuck all, the kid did the heavy lifting.’

“That isn’t an answer.” ‘I know what you aren’t saying.’

“Still doesn’t make it right. I should have been there. I should have stayed with you instead of trying to find someplace to hide. And honestly, it was all a lie. I wasn’t going anywhere, not without you.” Serpent eyes finally met his angel’s. There was no anger or resentment. They were forgiving, understanding, loving. ‘I don’t deserve you.’

“I know dearest. Honestly, at the bandstand, I nearly said yes. I wanted to, but there was so much to consider, and the end of days wasn’t making that decision easy. I couldn’t just leave Earth to be destroyed, I didn’t want to betray my side, and selfishly I wanted you. Having my cake and demanding to eat it too. When The Metatron informed me of their plans I knew where my loyalties lied. It was with the Earth, and you. If I was a traitor than so be it.” He moved his chair to beside his husband. ‘I will choose you forever.’

“See that’s my point. You saw the end and faced it, I ran.” ‘Pathetic, useless coward.’

“Yes, I did. So I could have you. And you ran because you were in danger. Hell was quite literally coming for you. I was too much of a coward to tell you I needed you with me. I pushed you away, yet again. But when I was able to get my head on straight you were there. No hesitations, you were there. That’s what matters. We are both idiots at times. But I love you, whether you are an idiot or the wildly brilliant demon I know you to be.” Aziraphale leans in, kissing Crowley trying to convey the truth of his words. ‘You are so much more than the lies you tell yourself. If you could only see yourself through my eyes.’ 

‘Coward? How are you the coward? Brilliant idiot coward, me. How can you love me?’ “Shut it. It is not right for a demon to be blubbering like a baby.” he bit back the tears that threatened to drown him.

‘Some wounds take longer to heal. Crowley’s Fall, the bookshop, these would take time. Time and love.’ Both Aziraphale was more than eager to provide. ‘I will just have to show you how beautiful you are.’ “Alright love, maybe we should indulge in the temptations you have set before us.”

Crowley sniffs and shook his mind free from melancholy. ‘We are having a lovely night. Don’t go ruining it with your bullshit.’ Aziraphale dishes for both of them. Though knowing Crowley isn’t as interested in food as himself, makes his portion a bit light. Which goes undisturbed until it is offered to Aziraphale. The food is perfection. Aziraphale takes his time savouring every morsel. His moans of pleasure quickly chase away the last of Crowley’s morose mood. ‘Snake charmer indeed.’ 

He chattered on about Agnes's new prophecies. “She has a flair for being cryptic.” From what he was able to deduce so far Aziraphale and Crowley would join in celestial union. That was true enough. God would send her messenger to bring them blessings and good tidings. That was also true. “Thank Her she didn’t send Gabriel.”

“Could you imagine? Poor Mary having that dry sack of shit tell you God knocked you up?” ‘Jesus was a good kid.’ “How’s her offspring fairing these days? Didn’t show up for his big performance at the end.”

“No.” ‘That should have told everyone the Great Plan was wrong.’ “He didn’t. As far as I have heard he’s doing well. Last time I spoke to him he seemed rather annoyed that the humans keep finding him in their foodstuffs, or on random buildings. He said he has absolutely nothing to do with it and wished they would stop.”

“Ha! My doing. Was hoping he’d get a kick out of it all.” he took a triumphant sip of his wine. 

When the last of the roast and Yorkshire pudding are consumed Crowley brings out the tart. Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. 

Crowley can’t help but grin at his angel’s excitement. He places the tart between them. Instead of cutting a serving Crowley offered his angel a helping on a dainty spoon. 

Aziraphale understood immediately his husband’s intentions. ‘He means to feed me.’ It felt a bit odd at first. That was before he took the decadence into his mouth. His eyes fluttered shut as the chocolate dissolved on his tongue, followed by the tart contrast of the raspberries. A low appreciative moan escaped him.

“Good?” Crowley focused on every movement and sound. 

“Positively sinful.” he beamed at his demon. Golden eyes blown wide with desire. 

Crowley, never looking away, offered another helping. Aziraphale kept eye contact this time. Crowley was watching with a fiery intensity as the spoon was accepted. Aziraphale licked his lips. “It is quite delectable, love. You should have a taste.”

“I think I just might.” Crowley surged forward, spoon discarded, claiming his angel’s lips. The sensations flooding him all at once. His tongue quickly found entrance, and he tasted the sweetness of that singularly divine mouth. 

Aziraphale scrambled into his husband’s lap, cardigan hastily removed. Crowley’s right hand cradled Aziraphale’s neck, the other cupped his ample breast. Aziraphale tilted his neck back into a glorious moan. 

The sensations were wild, pounding inside of him. There desperate need for contact was like billows on a fire. “God, the sounds you make, angel. You could finish me with them alone.” While he had his angel’s focus on their joined mouths, a finger deftly scooped a bit of the chocolate confection and brought it to Aziraphale’s neck. He drew a line down the milky flesh. Sending a shiver through his angel. Instant hungry pulses burned through him. He withdrew from their kiss and his tongue found the silken treat. 

The tip of his tongue followed the delicate curve of his love’s neck. Chocolate and sunshine titillated his senses. As he reached the end of his handiwork he pressed in for a kiss, then sucked flesh between teeth, softly scraping before release. This all earned him a symphony of the most sinfully intoxicating sounds he had ever heard. He gasped at the ferocity of the pulses biting through him. 

“I think I might be developing a sweet tooth.” he purred into his angel’s ear.

T-shirt was hastily pulled over Aziraphale’s head. Crowley quickly claiming neck. Aziraphale’s arms went around Crowley’s shoulders to pull him in closer. Which was exactly what Crowley wanted. His hands snaking around to unclasp Aziraphale’s bra. He bit harder, then sucked only enough to leave a faint reminder the next day. Of course, Aziraphale could heal it, though he was beginning to suspect his angel wouldn’t. 

Crowley withdrew and encouraged Aziraphale to lean back. Once his angel was resting against the table his fingers teased at the straps, hanging loosely from pearly shoulders. “If you don’t feel comfortable like this I can wait. We figure out what caused this, and get you back to yourself.”

Aziraphale felt a sudden sting pierce through him, “What if this is... permanent?” His eyes were wide and pitiable.

Crowley smiled.“Then, I stand by my word. We do nothing you aren’t comfortable with.” He took Aziraphale’s hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed his angel's palm reverently, never looking away. Aziraphale looked wistful at the display. Crowley pressed that hand to his chest, he let his essence bleed into Aziraphale. “Your happiness is all that matters.”

Aziraphale felt the joy and contentment seeping into him. “Oh, Crowley you are so wonderous.’ “And what about you? I wouldn’t deny you, not after everything…”

“None of that. I enjoy all this, but it is just a bit of fun. Well maybe a bit more than simple fun, but I don’t need it to be happy with you. If you are worried about how I feel about this form or the other I don’t care. Trust me they both have their appeal. I just want you, whatever that means.” his hand brushed through silk strands. Aziraphale pressed into the caress. 

“Oh, Crowley. I don’t hate this form. Rather curious about it all, if I am being honest. I think I was just a bit startled at first. Set in my ways and all that.” he chuckles his embarrassment. “I want you to promise me as well, love. If there is ever anything you are uncomfortable with you will let me know.”

“Scouts honour.” he purred in such a way it seemed more as a challenge than an honest agreement. 

“You are not, nor have you ever been a scout.” Aziraphale scolded. 

“Fine, I swear on the bentley. Happy?” ‘For Satan’s sake don’t let the old girl hear me.’

“Thank you for the gesture, Crowley. May we proceed?” he said relaxing back. He could feel Crowley’s effort straining against the leather. 

Crowley hooked both middle fingers in either strap. He drew down, knuckles caressing soft skin on the descent. Eyes focused, fully reptilian, watching for any apprehension. When the straps hung at his angel’s elbows his eyes went down to where Aziraphale held the fabric to supple breasts. 

Crowley gently removed his angel’s hands to rest on his lap. He took the fabric delicately between his fingers and slowly pulled it away. Aziraphale’s breasts lay heavy between them, nipples already perk. Crowley bit his lip, ‘Where to start?’ 

Their eyes met, the rolling warm waves of his angel’s love soothed him. He brought his thumb up to brush across that perfectly pink bottom lip. His hand descended, fingers delicately gliding down Aziraphale’s throat, over the centre of his chest, between the sumptuous breasts. Aziraphale sighed trying to still the urge to press into the feather-light contact. Crowley followed the curve of bosom, knuckles accidentally brushing. Aziraphale shivered. 

Crowley trails up towards the blushing bud. Tracing tantalizing circles, so near but not touching. Aziraphale could feel his new effort responding. Throbbing and slick. He keened at the deliberate denial. He dared not move. Crowley had proven to be a proficient lover. Able to draw the pleasure to a fever pitch. Crowley would satisfy his needs, in time, in his own way. Aziraphale submitted to the delicious torment, savouring the blessed ache that mixed so well with pleasure. 

Crowley dips back into the chocolate tart, bringing it back to flushed skin. He repeated his previous sensual trail. Aziraphale watched with heavy-lidded eyes, breath shallow, expectant. Crowley locked eyes with his angel as the tip of his tongue tasted. Drawing upwards in one agonizingly luxurious caress. Aziraphale presses his chest forward to ease the need for friction. Crowley turned his attention to the underside of right breast sucking and licking skin clean. 

Aziraphale’s hands fisted in his hair. Low breathy moans singing through Crowley’s ears. Crowley cups his angel’s right breast, kneading the ample flesh lightly. Aziraphale’s hips rocking against him, desperate for friction. Pleasure and ache plucking at Crowley like a taut bowstring. 

Crowley’s tongue circled the painted halo around perk nipple. “I definitely have a sweet tooth.” 

Crowley closed his hot wet mouth on the bud. Aziraphale arched into the possessing sensation. Crowley sucked intently, tongue flicking, teeth holding the flesh in place. Aziraphale cried out, pressing into the sensation. Crowley pulled off, teeth scraping sending a jolt of pleasure to undiscovered parts of Aziraphale, which he felt in turn. 

Crowley turned his attention to the twin mound. His mouth claiming and insistent. His right hand caressing the seen to breast. Thumb and fingers pinching and rolling. His hands firmly massaging Aziraphale. His angel is grinding against his lap, seeking, needing more. Aziraphale lets one hand fall from his hair and braces on the table, knuckles white. “Oh, Crowley I…” 

Crowley feels the crest, he bites down, sucking, tongue pulling Aziraphale to release. Aziraphale convulses in his lap, Crowley forcefully being drawn flush against him as each wave of pleasure shocks his essence. 

Aziraphale is panting eyes pleading to his husband. “That was...I didn’t know I could...like that.”

Crowley kisses his angel. “Aziraphale I want my mouth on other parts of you as well. Will you let me?” Brows furrowed, Aziraphale nods. “Here on the table?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale whimpers. The thought of Crowley’s tongue anywhere on his body made that delicious ache return. 

Dishes are banished to parts unknown. Crowley lays Aziraphale down, his own personal feast for the taking. Deftly jeans are removed and tossed aside. Aziraphale lays before him bare except for delicate lace panties. Damp already from Crowley’s ministrations. Which are hastily removed. 

He spreads those enticingly generous thighs, opening his angel to him. Aziraphale’s mound is plump like the rest of that splendid corporation. Pink pearl already glistening with need. 

Crowley tenderly presses a kiss to inner thigh. Watching, entranced by his love. “You are hauntingly beautiful.” He purs into the supple flesh. His teeth bare down earning him a whimper that fades into a sinful moan. “I want to taste you, feel you come undone. Know that I am the reason.” He kisses and licks his way to the junction of thigh and hip. “I want to hear your ecstasy.” Crowley bites the sensitive skin, pulling almost free before pressing back in to suck and lick at the offended flesh. It is red with faint teeth impressions. “Will you keep this for me?” he asks gently kissing his mark. 

“Yes.” his angel answers faintly.

Crowley turns to the other leg, starting at the inside of Aziraphale’s knee. Kissing and licking his way to that thigh. He pauses looks first at the pale offering then to his angel. “This one too?” he takes flesh between his teeth waiting.

“Please.” Aziraphale moans pressing his leg into Crowley’s mouth.

He releases the skin, “Please what?” A light kiss to the previously claimed spot. 

“I will keep it. If you please…Uuuhnn!” Crowley bites hard, releases then sucks the skin deep into his mouth. Tongue massaging away the stinging pain. The sensations that wash over him are maddening.

Crowley places Aziraphale’s trembling legs over his shoulders. He presses a long kiss to Aziraphale’s pelvis before looking up at his angel. “And here, dove?”

“I will keep it.” Crowley bites down just above Aziraphale’s folds. His angel arches, pressing into the contact. Crowley sucks in hard, bruising tender skin. When Crowley pulls free with a pop Aziraphale falls limp on the table. 

“Thank you, dove.” he purrs nuzzling at the mark. 

He doesn’t wait for a response. He bows low, tongue licking Aziraphale’s slick seam. Of their own accord, his angel’s legs clamp down around him. Crowley wraps his strong hands around either thigh and coaxes them relaxed. “I need you open for me. Can you do that, dove?”

Aziraphale nods, watching his husband. He props his feet on the back of the chair for stability before pulling his legs farther apart. 

“Just like that dove. You are so good for me.” Crowley lowers again. This time his tongue splits the folds tasting the sweet-salty heat of his angel. His tongue swiping up until he catches that bead of pleasure. Aziraphale jerks at the sudden sensation. Crowley watching his angel’s response. The sensation pulsing hot inside him. He takes the flushed bud into his mouth and gives the slightest of suction. 

Aziraphale’s legs threaten to close, before willing them open and compliant once again. Crowley hands smooth up ample thighs, caressing, rewarding Aziraphale’s restraint. He flicks his tongue while maintaining suction. Aziraphale’s hands fisted in his fiery hair. 

“Crowley my love...uhhh...that is exquisite.”

Crowley hums his response sending electricity through Aziraphale. Legs started to close again before Aziraphale forces them back open. Crowley rewards this by alternating between rapid flicks of his tongue and pulsing suction. Never letting his angel settle into one sensation.

Aziraphale is already shaking, fighting to remain open. Crowley eases into his angel’s warm entrance with one dextrous finger. Just past the pelvic bone he finds his prize. He crooks his finger and a moan catches in Aziraphale’s’ throat. This time the angel has no control as legs clamp shut. Crowley adds another and works his fingers over the bundle of nerves. Thrusting his hand intent on one goal. His tongue and mouth drawing his angel to that divine pinnacle once more. The sensation is electric and burning. Pulses and sharp barbs stealing his focus. 

Aziraphale is thrashing, gasping, fists merciless in crimson locks. Crowley knows the instant it happens. He switches places, fingers caressing the sensitive pearl as his tongue plunges inside. He tastes and licks at his angel’s climax. Fingers stroking through each agonizing wave. His angel's cries of ecstasy shooting straight ro his effort. Aziraphale’s muscles rapidly clench on Crowley’s expert tongue. 

As the euphoria subsides Aziraphale relaxes his legs. Crowley stands admiring his work. His blessed angel is covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Eyes still clouded with desire. Aziraphale wraps, still trembling legs, around Crowley’s waist. 

“Crowley please.”

“Yes, dove? What do you need?” he caresses those thighs that hold him tight. 

“I...Crowley… Like before…”

“Like what dove?”

Aziraphale rolls his hips against his husband’s trapped body. Something cold, ridged, and perfectly in position scrapes against already too sensitive bud. Aziraphale rolls his hips again. It isn’t as wonderful as Crowley, but it gives Aziraphale just enough friction to stem the ache. 

Crowley watches in fascination as his angel grinds against his belt buckle. It wasn’t purchased for this purpose but he’d sooner be doused in holy water then stop Aziraphale. His hands slide up to sensuous hips. He is transfixed. His own effort screaming to be released. 

“Please Crowley...love...please...I need...you.”

“You are doing so good dove. Keep going. Let me see you.”

Crowley assisted by pushing his pelvis forward. Aziraphale quickened the roll, chasing the building pleasure. His angel's breathing becomes erratic. Crowley couldn’t decide whether to watch the unabashed display before him or his angel’s agonized needy expression. The snakehead disappearing and reappearing between flushed folds with each roll. 

“Crowley.... please..i-it isn’t... enough.” Aziraphale pleading for his husband to have mercy on his state. 

“I’ve got you dove.” his hands softly kneading his angel’s hips. “Let me see you come apart.” 'Sinfully wicked angel. I never stood a chance. Doomed from the moment we met.' "Come for me, my love."

With that Aziraphale’s whole body convulses. A wailing moan echoing through the bookshop. Shocks of pleasure searing into Crowley. His hands tighten their grip to ground him. Aziraphale continues to press and roll against the snakes head. Crowley’s pants are wet from Aziraphale’s release.

“Crowley I need you.” Aziraphale whimpers. Still rolling against him. 

“But you promisssed me a bath.” he hisses, his restraint failing. 

“Please Crowley.” Blue eyes pleading.

“Don’t worry, dove. We will, but I have other plans.” Aziraphale whines. “If I have to I will carry you...” he leans into his angel. “I will,” Crowley growled low. 

“Please.” Aziraphale shivered.

“Please what, dove? Use your words angel. You know so many.”

“Anthony...uh...J...Crowley.” Aziraphale is panting, straining to make his mouth and mind cooperate. “I-if you don’t uhhh. Oh, God…” Aziraphale’s hands grip Crowley’s forearms, hips rolling, begging for more. “I-if you don’t take...uh...off those damned clothes...p-please...I-I will c-c-consigne them...to the nest.”

“As you wish, dove.” ‘Domesticate me and I debauch you. Fairtrade.’ Crowley snaps, clothing, including belt are gone. Crowley bows sealing their mouths in a hungry kiss. He scoops Aziraphale into his arms, legs still clasped around his waist, and walks them towards the bathroom. 

The water is already warm and ready. Crowley never lessening his mouth's focus, steps into the bath. Lowering them down into the inviting warmth. Aziraphale can feel Crowley’s arousal pressing against aching folds. 

Aziraphale looks into Crowley’s golden eyes. “Please my love.” Aziraphale reached up, trembling hand gently brushing against cheekbone. “Make love to me.” his angel whimpers. Blue eyes near violet with yearning, “I need you inside of me.” 

'God above and Satan below. I am but a puppet on your string.' Crowley reached between them, taking his effort in hand. He positions himself at his angel’s entrance. Aziraphale slowly, eases down on him. Both of their breaths catch. Their brows furrow, as the intense heat of Aziraphale claims Crowley to the hilt.

“Too much?” Crowley can feel the tightness of Aziraphale’s effort constricting around his own. 

“No.” Aziraphale lifts off ever so slightly before sliding back down. “Just right.” voice breathy.

Crowley holds Aziraphale close. One hand between shoulder blades, the other on the small of his angel’s back. Aziraphale rocks again. “Just like that, dove.” Aziraphale focuses on setting a steady rhythm. Slow, steady, determined slides almost pulling off completely before fully sheathing again. The sensations flooding Crowley are intense forceful waves that break against his essence. 

Crowley claims his angel’s lips before moving to that perfect neck. Then to the swell of breast, before taking perk bud back into his mouth. Aziraphale arches in response. Gasping at the overwhelming sensations. 

Crowley feels it almost instantly. His angel’s essence calling to him, demanding him forth. Crowley slips dark tendrils into Aziraphale’s light. They are connected in both body and spirit as they slowly climb their way to that beautiful peak. 

Crowley feels as Aziraphale sings his release. Pulses of pure bliss flow from his angel. Dancing through Crowley’s essence. Crowley comes undone, spilling deep into his angel, his essence singing out in return. The world around them resonates with their shared joy. 

Crowley feels Aziraphale reseed away. His angel is laying limp against his chest, as he comes back to the world. Aziraphale's arms firmly wrapped around his neck. 

“Thank you my love.” he coos into his husband's neck. 

“Always dove.” Crowley’s heart feels as if it could burst. ‘I never want to leave you again. Home?’ “Aziraphale?”

“Yes, love?” He sits up to look down on his demon.

“Can I stay…” his eyes pleading. “here...with you?” Crowley knows the answer but needs to hear it all the same.

Aziraphale sees uncertainty. “He’s so use to me pushing him away.’ “But of course love.” Aziraphale kisses those pleading lips.”Why would you feel otherwise?” ‘because I have hurt you so many times.’ “I thought that was a forgone conclusion.” Aziraphale kisses those furrowed brows. “We are married, I am not going to have us living in separate homes.”

Crowley’s heart does burst. Relief and happiness consume him through. “You are my home.”

“As you are mine.” Aziraphale presses another kiss to his demon. “Darling hear me. If you are more comfortable at your flat I will follow you. If you are more comfortable here I will just have to make some room. Though I ask you to keep that particular statuary upstairs. Private collection.” ‘Though it might deter certain clientele.’

“What do you want?” Crowley asks, knowing he wants to remain in the bookshop. 

‘Why do you always bow to my whims?’ “I want you to choose. I will go wherever you wish us to be. We can live in Mayfair and I can work in Soho. Or we can live in Soho and you can help me scare away prospective patrons. Or if you have another idea then we will do that. Even if it is the moon.” Aziraphale shifts, turns and settles back against his husband.

“Soho for now,” Crowley answers almost immediately. He takes a bottle of shampoo in hand and begins working the soap into dishevelled curls. Which he notes are getting rather long for Aziraphale’s normal tastes. 

“As you like, but if that changes I want to be the first to know.” He relaxes into his husband’s pampering.

“You will.”

Crowley bathes his angel thoroughly, Aziraphale repays him in kind. They soak in the warm water indulging in each other’s company. “We'll go get your plants in the morning. There is space enough up here. Our own little Eden or Hanging Gardens of Babylon.”

“Was that upstair’s fault or down?”

“Heaven, I am afraid. The...potato rather enjoyed himself that day.” Aziraphale remembered that disgusting grin, as Sandalphon was applauded for his triumph. 

“Sodding little prick. Liked those gardens.” Crowley grumbles. 

“I know, dearest.” Aziraphale yawned and rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. Turning to look at those alluring eyes.“Thank you.”

“For what?” he huffs running his shrivelled fingers down Aziraphale’s arm.

“Never giving up on me.” Aziraphale’s eyes close. Crowley brings his arms around his angel. Aziraphale is almost instantly asleep.

Figuring they will dissolve if they remain in the bath any longer, Crowley miracles them dry and in their nest. His angel pressed tightly to him. Crowley strokes through curls glowing in the moonlight.

“You are welcome, dove.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	9. I Would, If You Would but Let Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale isn't feeling quite himself. This is very worrying to all parties involved.

Tuesday 3 September 2019  
12:15 pm  
Soho

One week later, a demon and an angel were now comfortably sharing a small bookshop in Soho. Not much changed on the first floor, but they had, in fact, transformed their bedroom into a veritable Eden. Missing only the massive wall and The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, of course. Crowley’s plants filled their little flat, and to their master’s amazement were even more verdant and lush than ever before. A particular angel would attribute this to his husband's ever-improving mood.

The statues and most of the furniture remained behind. Crowley figured it was easiest just to keep his flat as an upscale storage unit. What did have the pleasure of making its way over was a coffee machine, a flat-screen television, and an original sketch of The Mona Lisa. In exchange for a favoured jacket, all the pillows and bedding were now intermixed within their nest. With the added agreement of if said jacket wasn’t in use, it would return to its rightful place. 

Most days Aziraphale opens the shop. Recently it was to watch in amusement as Crowley deterred anyone from purchasing any of Aziraphale’s books. To anyone familiar enough with the shop, seeing a blonde female proprietor instead of a man was easily explained away. The delivery man’s assumption that female Aziraphale and the previously unfemale Aziraphale were siblings worked well enough for anyone who would inquire. 

Yesterday Aziraphale instituted a game. Crowley may use any device in his arsenal, except anything that may cause the humans to suspect their true natures, and of course physical harm. Crowley would time himself, so far the quickest exit was just shy of a minute. This little game of theirs was right up his alley. He would mingle through the shop whenever someone did happen to step inside. He started initially with simply standing too close, leering, and stalking any poor human through the shop. Once uncomfortable most patrons left. 

One particularly stubborn customer, who dared attempt to purchase a signed first edition of The Picture of Dorian Grey, refused to leave. For this most unlucky of humans, Crowley felt particularly inspired. While Aziraphale tried his usual tactics Crowley slunk off to the back room. Once he was out of eyeshot he called out to his angel, “Love, have you seen my snake?”

“What was that dearest?” Aziraphale’s smile was one of mischievous delight. If Crowley was about to do, what he thought he intended to, this rather rude human would be fleeing his presents soon. 

“My bloody snake. Seems to have escaped.” with that Crowley shifted into his serpent form. Obsidian black scales glistening even in the dimness of the backroom. He slithered towards the human, who was currently unaware that a twenty-three meter, six hundred sixty-six kilogram snake was loose in the shop. 

When Aziraphale notices his impish husband approaching he smiles brightly at him. ‘Even like this, you are so breathtaking.’ Aziraphale is suddenly very at ease and watches the human in anticipation. Crowley rears his great weight up. If he was a common snake this gesture would signal he was about to strike, ready to devour his prey. “Oh look dearest I have found your snake,” Aziraphale calls to no one. 

The human turned abruptly and found himself nose to nose with the most terrifying creature he had ever had the misfortune to meet. The great snake glared, golden eyes assessing the human who went stock still. The snake recoils then lunges with a threatening hiss. The would-be customer scrambled for the exit. 

If Crowley had been a common snake he could have easily made a meal of the bumbling human. Who, had fallen three times in his hurry to escape. Aziraphale quickly went for the door and flipped the sign to closed. With a snap, all the curtains were drawn affording them some privacy. 

Crowley sinuously returned to his human form smiling his amusement. “Well, that was fun.”

“Expertly done, dearest,” Aziraphale said before rewarding his husband with a kiss. 

“Retired, not dead.” He straightened his reclaimed jacket. 

“And beautiful as ever.” another kiss to appreciative lips.

“Now that we are closed, what do you say we go for a walk? Perhaps lunch after?” ‘The world is our oyster, taste it with me.’

Though Aziraphale was feeling quite exhausted after his interaction with the human, he agreed. Crowley ushered them to the bentley and they were off to St. James Park. George Frideric Handel’s Crazy Little Thing Called Love blaring for all to hear.

The sun was shining, a light breeze carried the promise of autumn in the air. Aziraphale was resting his head on his demon’s shoulder, arms linked as they watched the ducks paddle around the pond. There was no hiding, no pretence, just the two sharing their world in fondest company. 

As Aziraphale tossed a stale morsel to the expectant fowl Crowley interjected, “You know angel, bread is bad for them.”

“Bread?” he looked at his husband in puzzlement.

Crowley shrugged. ‘Somethi’n I read somewhere.’ “Bad for their bones or what have you.”

“You mean?” he looked positively dejected. “I’ve been hurting the poor creatures all these years.” ‘Harming God’s creatures. I am a terrible angel.’

“Awww, angel.” Crowley drawls. “The humans only recently figured it out themselves. Don’t fret, we can bring them oats, or bird feed next time.” ‘Why are you so adorable when you pout?’

“I feel dreadful.” ‘I have been brittleing the bones of ducks for centuries.’

“Look at’em they don’t seem to mind.” He gestures, the quacking menaces demanding their offerings. 

“Yes, but I know. Ignorance doesn’t excuse one’s behaviour.” ‘Forgive me sweet things. I will make sure to bring you better food in the future.’

Crowley kisses those ever-growing curls. He wasn’t particularly sure if Aziraphale was intentionally causing them to grow faster, but his angel’s hair was nearly shoulder length. ‘I hope you let your hair grow. Those blonde ringlets would be a temptation all on their own.’ “C’mon let’s get lunch.”

“Oh, I am not hungry.” ‘No, I am starving. I can’t eat enough. Regular glutton I’ve become. I don’t need food.’

“You, refusing food?”Crowley cocked an eyebrow over his sunglasses. ‘Sleeping, now refusing food. You never refuse food. What are you not telling me?’

“I...well...I seem to be rather making a glutton of myself recently. I was thinking perhaps I should cut back.” ‘I don’t need it.’

‘Fuck that.’ “Nope. We are getting lunch. You like food, and I enjoy you enjoying food.” He held his angel close. ‘What are you not telling me?’

“Alright, dearest. But only a light lunch. I have Agnes’s prophecies to decipher. Which, I dare say is quite challenging.” ‘What with me not being able to keep my eyes open these days.’

They turn away from the pond and begin to head back to the bentley. They take but a few steps before Aziraphale suddenly sways threatening to topple to the ground. Crowley notices the change in his angel’s hold and catches Aziraphale before his angel falls. “Angel? Love, are you alright?” ‘Shit. Something is really wrong.’

“Sorry,” a hand went to his brow. “Don’t know what has come over me.” He tries to stand on shaking legs but must cling to his husband to do so. “Feel a bit dizzy.”

Crowley scans their surroundings and glares at a couple on the nearest bench. They suddenly find themselves needing to be elsewhere. Crowley all but carries his angel to the now vacant seat. “Here, angel. Sit.”

Aziraphale complies, resting against his husband’s supportive shoulders. “I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.” 

‘Fuss? Something is wrong. I have to fix this.’ “Nope, none of that. Tell me what you need.”

‘Oh, excellent Aziraphale worry your husband. That’s exactly what he needs.’ “Nothing, dearest. Just felt a bit faint is all.”

“Faint?” ‘You have been falling asleep every time you are still for more than five minutes. Then you are almost impossible to wake unless you sleep for several hours. Now refusing food. You haven’t touched a thing except for tea since breakfast, yesterday. Something is wrong.’

“Yes. Might we...might we forego lunch today? I feel I need to rest.” ‘I don’t need to eat.’ Aziraphale reclined against Crowley, eyes weakly pleading. 

“Sure.” He tucks his angel into a tight hug, resting his chin in pale curls. ‘I am missing something. Something important, but what?’

Crowley assists Aziraphale back to the bentley. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s You Take My Breath Away tearing at his already fraying mind. He can see how worn his angel is. He starts assessing Aziraphale, searching for anything else that may be amiss. He drives slow, his angel already fast asleep at his side, on their short drive back to the bookshop. He parks near the door and tries to wake his angel. 

“Please husband. A few more minutes.” Aziraphale groans. 

“We are home, love. Let’s get you inside.” ‘Not good.’

Aziraphale only nuzzles in closer. Crowley becomes increasingly concerned. This isn’t his angel’s norm. Aziraphale who never slept a wink before their bonding. Now can’t be roused to go inside their bookshop. Crowley lowers Aziraphale to resting fully on the seat. He hurries from his side of the bentley to Aziraphale’s. He leans in, scooping his angel into his arms. “Hold on to my neck.” Aziraphale complies weakly. “That’s it. Hold on, love. I’ve got you.”

Crowley carries his angel’s listless body inside and up to their nest. He snaps his fingers and Aziraphale is in the flannel pyjamas his angel likes best. As well as the cashmere cardigan that never goes unused. Whatever is going on Aziraphale clearly needs to rest. He holds his angel for a long moment, watching those precious eyes dance behind delicate lids. “Sweet dreams beautiful. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Crowley thinks, consults the internet, which doesn’t help. 'Angels don’t get human illnesses.' He considers pushing his essence into Aziraphale to check for any clues as to the problem. ‘No. Best get Aziraphale’s permission first.’ He is at a loss. Then a notion strikes him. 

Crowley pulls his phone from his pocket and calls their witch. After two rings she answers.

“Hello?”

“Book girl.” ‘Thank whoever.’

“Anathema.”

‘Be polite.’ “Right, look I am not sure, but I think there might be something wrong with Aziraphale.” 

“What do you mean?” Crowley can hear the concern in the human’s voice and is thankful she is taking him seriously.

“We were at the park and Aziraphale, well, fainted.” he can’t hide the fear in his trembling voice. ‘Without you I am nothing.’

“Could he be sick?”

“We don’t get sick. Angel and demon remember.” ‘Be polite. You are asking for help.’

“Yeah. Does he have any other symptoms?”

“Sleeps all the time. We don’t need to. At first, I just thought Aziraphale was enjoying it. Now, well.” He looks over at his angel, sleeping soundly. Clutching Crowley’s shed jacket tight. “Had a headache yesterday, chaulked it up to your great-whatever grandmother’s bloody manuscript. And Aziraphale is refusing to eat for some reason. Never known my angel to refuse food. Hasn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday. We don’t need to eat either, but its…” he sighed, he can’t connect the pieces. “Concerning.” ‘Terrifying.’

“Sounds like the flu.”

‘Bloody human you aren’t this dense.’ “We don’t get…”

“Sick, you told me.”

‘Polite. God said she will help. Polite.’ “Look, can you come over and do that aura thing you do? See if you can see anything? I can send a cab. I’d offer to come pick you up, but I don’t want to leave Aziraphale.” his heart ached at the thought. His angel helpless and alone for a moment would be too much. 

“Don’t worry, I understand. Where are you?”

“A.Z. Fell and Co. Bookshop. Soho, London.”

“Oh, Newt and I are visiting his mother. We’ll be right over.”

“See you soon.” he doesn’t feel relief. He won’t allow himself until he knows his angel is alright. “Oh and Bo...Anathema? Thank you.” he means it. Humans can be cruel and positively evil to one another. Then there are times when he sees just a little of Aziraphale in them. For this, he can't help but admire them.

“You are really worried about him aren’t you.” 

‘Nothing means anything without my angel. I can’t do any of this if Aziraphale isn’t here.’ “Yes. The door will let you in when you get here. We’ll be upstairs.” Crowley hangs up with a long sigh

Crowley paces for a moment. Deciding between waking Aziraphale, and laying down and holding on to his anchor. He decides on the latter. He crawls into their nest and rests his head near his sleeping angel. Aziraphale is peaceful, a small smile on tender lips. ‘I’ve done this. I knew I would hurt you. Tell me how to fix this.’ He brought his hand to caress soft cheek. ‘If you ever loved anything. Please protect him.’ tears prickle at his eyes. He would fall at Her feet if She were here. ‘Does She even hear the prayers of the damned?’ He sniffs and shoots up from the nest. He rushes downstairs and busies his mind by making cocoa. 

He warms the milk on the little boiler and adds the mix. His fussy angel, for all his standards, likes simple cheap off-brand cocoa. Crowley decides against adding marshmallows for ease of drinking. 

His mind torments him with all conceivable and inconceivable possibilities. ‘What if the witch is right? What if it's the flu? What if our bond is causing...no.’ He’s seen Aziraphale perform miracles. ‘Humans can’t do those things.’ 

Crowley hurries upstairs, cocoa in hand. He sets the winged mug down on the floor. Crowley leans in and kisses his angel’s cheek. “Dove, can you wake up for me?” Aziraphale’s eyes remain closed but his angel’s smile beams brightly. 

“I love you, Crowley.” Aziraphale reaches out and finds his husband. He pulls himself close, resting his head in his demon’s lap. “I was having such a wonderful dream. You were so happy.”

“I love you too, angel. And I am happy. I’d be even happier if you sat up and drank your cocoa.” ‘Please wake up. I need you.’

Blue eyes fluttered open gazing sleepily, but happy at his demon. He knew that face. Crowley was upset about something but trying to hide it. His mind was still floating in a sleep haze so he struggled to make sense of why. “Crowley dearest what is the matter?”

‘I have hurt you.’ “Aziraphale you fainted at the park. Remember?” 

“Oh, yes. Sorry about that.” ‘Stupid corporation. Please don’t worry, my love.’

“I called Book girl. She and her Salamander are coming over.” Crowley tried for levity. He wanted that smile to reassure him his angel would be ok.

“Why in Heaven would you do that?” Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. ‘Oh, Heaven you have done it now. He must have felt desperate to call the humans.’

‘I am so scared.’ “I am worried about you, angel.” he sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. “Your sleep, it’s not just for the pleasure of it, is it?” ‘Don’t you dare lie to me.’

“No, I suppose it is not.” ‘No use keeping silent now.’

“And you are refusing to eat. Why?” ‘Please let me help.’

“ I, well. I…” The shop bell rang announcing their guests. Aziraphale cut their bedroom door a look of disapproval. “We are…”

Crowley stops him, “Up here.” he calls out. His heart began to hope. 

They hear the pair enter climbing the stairs. There is a light knock at the door. “Please do come in.” Aziraphale taking Crowley’s answer as confirmation on their intruders.

Anathema is the first to peek her head in. Aziraphale sits up, pulling his cardigan around his bosom. Anathema enters, surveying the scene before her. Newt awkwardly on her heels. “I am sorry about all this Miss. Device. It seems I uh...am not as I should be.” Aziraphale smiles meekly.

Anathema looks over the angel. ‘Crowley is right to be worried.’ Aziraphale is sallow, worn thin. His eyes still sparkle but something is obviously not right. “Hi, Aziraphale. Crowley called and said you fainted.” She approached the mass of linen tentatively. ‘Is this how angels and demons sleep?’ She sat on the floor, careful not to disturb whatever it was they were perched in. It didn’t feel right to even touch the structure.

“Yes, it seems I did.” ‘I am an absolute buffoon.’

“We were just discussing that. Care to continue, dove?” Crowley rubbed Aziraphale’s arm. ‘Let me in. Let me fix this.’

“Yes, well. You see Miss. Device I haven’t been feeling myself, as of late. I well...Oh, Crowley, I should have mentioned all of this to you. I was hoping it would go away. Stiff upper lip and all that nonsense.” ‘Please don’t be cross.’

“I am not mad Aziraphale. I just want to help.” he hands him the warm cocoa. ‘Let me in. I will make this right.’

“Right. Thank you, dearest.” he sips the cocoa. He feels the warmth bleed through him. ‘You are always so good to me.’ He feels his stomach respond, the overwhelming pain lessens. “Oh, that is much better.” he smiles at his devoted, beautiful, attentive husband. ‘I will never be worthy of all that you freely give to me.’

“You were saying.” Crowley encourages. Hand caressing his angel’s back. 

“Ah, yes. I am tired. I feel exhausted all the time. I have never felt such a thing before. I didn’t realize what it was until I was sleeping most of the day.” he sips his cocoa. “And I am positively ravenous. If I am not sleeping I and starving. And if I don’t eat well, you heard what happened today.” he looks sheepishly over at Crowley. “I tried to not eat for a time. As our kind doesn’t need food I thought I was just being a glutton.” he shifts to his demon. “I am sorry Crowley I should have told you sooner.” 

‘Don’t you know by now I will always, always forgive you.’ “We’ve already established you can be a bit of a bastard.” he brushes a curl from his angel’s face. “I want to know if n’ything, I mean it Aziraphale n’ything changes. Gets worse. Better. Whatever it is. Okay?” ‘Let me help.’

“Of course. I should have said something.” ‘I didn’t want you to worry. I knew you would blame yourself. You are an innocent in this.’

“So you are hungry and tired?” Anathema cut through the tension between the two.

“Famished. And if I don’t eat I feel faint.” He felt ashamed. He couldn’t look at anyone. ‘I have no control over this damnedable body.’

“I’ve heard of people with blood sugar problems describe something similar. I assume you have never been to a doctor.” Anathema knew this wasn’t pertinent to them.

“Whatever for? I have never felt the least bit ill. Until now it seems.” He looked up. ‘Perhaps I should. What would a human physician discover about this failing body?’

“Why don’t we get some food in you and see how you feel?” Anathema places a comforting hand on Aziraphale’s. 'They both look so afraid.'

“I could go pick something up.” offers Newton who again is looking for a reason to leave the room. His life would never be the same after meeting Anathema. 

“No, I think we can manage. Unless you would like to join us?” He smiled, but it faded almost instantly. ‘I have inconvenienced everyone enough already.’

“No thank you. Mum’s making supper.” Newt offered, ready to be far from this uncomfortable situation.

Anathema cut her boyfriend a scolding glare. She turned back to the kindly being in front of her. “Have you learned anything from Agnes?”

“Some that have already come to pass. I am still working on the others. She keeps referring to miracles, but doesn’t specify who or what the miracles are for.” ‘I haven’t been able to give them the attention they deserve.’ Aziraphale studies the nest. It was better than meeting all the pitiful looks he was currently subject to.

“Cryptic as always.” agreed Anathema.

“Quite.” Aziraphale smiled out of habit.

She could see how uncomfortable the angel was. The silent demon too for that matter. “Aziraphale may I look at your aura?”

Aziraphale nods his response, still avoiding the scrutiny. Anathema focuses, eyes seeking into the beyond. There, just as they had been are the two beings. One darkness, one light. The light seems more focused, a more concentrated brilliance. The edges faded, lessened. The golden thread that connects them is more vibrant, radiating a tangible hum. Anathema finds herself once again lost in the overwhelming beauty of it. The orange and silver ring around Aziraphale is brilliant and shocking. It seems to be part of the answer, but Anathema can not place its significance.

Anathema drew back from their auras. “I am not sure what to make of it. I don’t want to speculate without investigating further.” She stood, focused her features to look resolute that she will find the answers. “I’ll give my mother a call and see if she can help. For now Aziraphale I think you should listen to your body. If you are hungry, eat. If you are tired sleep.”

“Thanks, doc,” Crowley answered. The witch surely did what she could, but he was no closer to helping Aziraphale. 

“And you,” she pointed at the sullen demon. “Keep me up to date. If there are any changes call me. No matter what time.” ‘He needs a purpose right now.’

“We will Miss Device. Thank you. Newton, do give your mother our best wishes.” Aziraphale smiled his best, most courteous of smiles. 

There was more to be said, but Aziraphale was in no state to hear them. “Crowley, can I talk to you for a moment?” Anathema asked, hoping the demon would catch the importance of the invitation.

Crowley smirked. “I would say we don’t keep secrets but this bastard has been holding out.” ‘Not letting me in.’

Anathema wanted to grab the insufferable demon and haul him outside. “No, it has nothing to do with the two of you. Newton’s car is acting up. Seeing as you know about old cars I was wondering if you could give it a look.” ‘Take the hint.’

Crowley shrugged. “Not a mechanic. Wouldn’t know the first thing about it.”

‘You can not be this stupid.’ “Crowley just have a look” Her eyes gestured to the bedroom door.

Aziraphale figured the human wanted to discuss his situation with his husband in private. “She did come all the way over here, dearest. It is the least we can do.” ‘Go with her. I will be here when you return.’

“Fine. You stay put. Don’t think about moving around until I get back.” He hated the thought of leaving Aziraphale in his weakened state. 

Crowley kisses his angel and follows the human’s outside. Anathema turns to Crowley looking at him square on. “Look, I don’t want to upset him. Something is draining him, like some kind of parasite. Do you know of any demons who can do that?”

‘Succubi, Incubi, all manner of parasitic demons in Hell.’ “There are a few. Yeah.” 

He didn’t seem concerned. It wasn’t Crowley that Anathema was certain. Their bond was too pure, too honest for him to do something so despicable. “Have you noticed any lurking around.”

‘I would drown all of them in holy water if they tried.’ “No, and I would know if they were. We haven’t heard from either of our former sides since our trial. 

“So probably not a demon.” “That is a relief at least.’

“Or an angel.” ‘I would enjoy roasting that potato.’

“God?” Anathema knew this was ludicrous but still a possibility. 

‘No.’ As much as he was still angry about his Fall. Crowley couldn’t imagine her doing this to Aziraphale. “I don’t pretend to know what she is doing. Could be. She sent us that Congratulations letter, however. I don’t know.”

Anathema nods. “He said when he eats he doesn’t feel the effects as much. Keep him fed and rested. Maybe leave London. Take a vacation and see if it helps. I want daily check-ins.” ‘You need the vacation as much as he does. You can’t help him if you are a mess.’

‘What is that going to solve? Heaven and Hell are everywhere. If this is their doing.’ “A holiday? You think a holiday would help?” Crowley studies the pavement.

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“Christ, between you and Aziraphale. Fine. Daily check-ins and a Holiday.” ‘Perhaps she is right. Time away from London might be what we both need.’

Anathema tentative placed her hand on the demons folded arms. “I can see how much you mean to each other. Give me a little time to look into things and I will do all I can. God did say I was supposed to help you.”

Crowley huffed. “I thought you wanted to get away from being ordered around by destiny.”

“It is one thing to burn a book. It is another thing to see someone suffer and do nothing.” she squeezed his forearm. ‘You don’t have to do this alone you ass.’

“Right. G’bye Anathema. Tell Newton he won’t have to worry about petrol. My thanks for your help.” Crowley said turning back towards the bookshop. ‘A plan. I need a plan.’

Anathema lingers for a moment watching the demon reenter the bookshop. 'He looks so lost.' Newt came up behind her and placed a consoling hand on her shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.” They both climb back into Dick Turpin and depart their new friends.

Crowley goes back in to find Aziraphale dressing. A tartan a-line skirt, powder blue blouse and the favoured tan cardigan, paired with a dainty pair of brown leather kitten heels. Reminiscent of beloved Oxfords. 

“I am beyond peckish my wonderful husband. May we?” Aziraphale smiles. ‘I hope I look presentable enough.’

“Have I told you today how beautiful you are?” Crowley gaped at the vision before him.

“More than once, my love. As are you.” Aziraphale wiggled.

Crowley drove them to a little hole in the wall restaurant that served the best English cuisine he could find. Aziraphale ate his fill of wild boar scotch eggs, venison faggots and mash, baked bone marrow with gravy, wild game pie, and sticky toffee pudding with custard. 

Crowley noted Aziraphale already looks more alert. His radiance back to its typical brilliance. He felt his chest relax. ‘Maybe that is all my angel needs.’

‘That feels so much better.’ “That was wonderful dearest. Thank you.” he smiled prettily at his cherished husband. ‘Whenever I need you, you are there.’

“Feeling better?” He needed the words. Needed the conformation of his suspicions. 

“Quite,” Aziraphale said standing offering his hand to his demon. ‘I will not leave you. Nothing will keep us apart. Not even God’s will.’ Crowley took his angel’s hand and they left the restaurant. “I am sorry for all the worry. I truly thought it was all in my head.”

Crowley opened Aziraphale’s door. Leaning against his faithful machine. “And how do you feel now?” ‘Let me in. Let me help.’

“Invigorated. Truly. I am not tired nor hungry. Feel nearly normal again.” Aziraphale smiled as he entered the bentley. 

“Good. If you start feeling like that again you are going to tell me immediately.” ‘Please.’ He was thankful for his sunglasses. They alone hid his traitorous eyes. 

“I promise.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

Crowley nods and waves Aziraphale further into the bentley. Once safely in he closes the door. ‘Don’t leave me alone.’ 

Less than a half-hour later they are home. Crowley and Aziraphale lay in their nest. Aziraphale looks at his demon. Those eyes are haunted with so many concerns. He kisses his brow, then his nose, then passionately his lips. They make love that night. It is slow and so bitterly sweet. Aziraphale is in tears from the sheer tenderness of his demon. Their pleasure builds slow, unhurried. Feeling and offering to the other. 

After they are sated Crowley looks down on his angel. Their hands clasped on either side of Aziraphale. “I love you. Please know that. I don’t want to ever hurt you.” ‘Please be okay.’

“I have known for six millennia. And I want you to understand the same is true for me.” Aziraphale presses his forehead to his husbands. “Try not to worry so dearest. We will figure this out. We always do. And I will be at your side, forever.”

Crowley kisses his angel gently, eyes afraid to look away. He lays down on his angel, arm pinning Aziraphale beneath him. He breathes in their joined scent of the nest. ‘This is right. Please let us have this.’ he prays. 

Sleep claims Crowley first, lost in his love’s arms. Crowley dreams that night. When he wakes in the morning he will have little understanding of the dream. But while he is there he is profoundly happy. Aziraphale is glowing in the evening light. Smiling that perfect smile, only for him. There is something else there with them. Something that fills Crowley’s essence as he has never felt before. He is happy, and he is loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	10. Fly to My Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley take that holiday. Crowley goes a bit overboard.

Thursday 5 September 2019  
9:00 am  
Soho

After their meeting with a helpful witch, Aziraphale seemed to be on the mend. Aziraphale finds Crowley being more attentive than ever if it were possible. Food the following day was provided at regular intervals. Rest breaks were insisted upon. Aziraphale spent that time in his husband’s arms either on their sofa or in their nest. An agreement was reached between the pair. In which, Aziraphale would spend no more than two hours on the manuscript. The rest of his time was to be focusing on maintaining his corporation. Everything seemed to be falling back into place. That was until a certain demon all but pounced on his angel. Aziraphale, who had been sleeping soundly, was awoken by a shower of kisses.

A kiss to temple, “Good morning, angel.” A kiss to the cheek, “Rise up sleeping beauty.” A kiss to nose “I have plans.” A kiss to forehead. “And you can’t say no.” Kiss to the other cheek. “Well, you could. But I don’t…” kiss to awakening lips. “Think.” another. “You’ll want too.” A firm loving kiss quickly dissolved into one of passion. As his angel shifted beneath him and wrapped sleepy arms around his neck.

Aziraphale, who once again found himself quite naked upon waking, felt the weight of his beloved demon sink between his thighs. ‘Clothed. Not those plans then.’ “Good morning, husband.” He opened his eyes slowly to see a very enthusiastic smile.

Crowley kissed one last kiss to gently smiling lips. “Good morning, dove.” ‘That, I get to wake up beside you every morning. See that smile. How did I get this lucky?’

Aziraphale cleared his groggy throat. “Plans, you say?”

“Big plans.” Crowley shot up, leaving his angel suddenly without his comforting weight. “You are going to eat breakfast. I am going to get us packed. Then, we are going to the airport.” Crowley was pulling clothing from their closet laying it on their once used bed.

Aziraphale sat up on propped elbows. Watching his excited husband frantically running from their closet to their bed with all of Aziraphale’s new clothing. “Airport? Darling why ever…”

Crowley was back on his angel in an instant. “Just go with it, yeah? I want it to be a surprise. A good one for a change.” ‘Please, please say yes.’

“Alright, love. Might I know where we are g-going?” The last was whimpered out as his husband claimed his neck. An encouraging hand tangled into crimson hair. ‘How did I ever refuse you?’

Crowley felt his angels need. It swept into him in an aching pleasurable harmony. His mouth trailed down to the juncture of neck and shoulder, teeth grazing ever so slightly. He felt Aziraphale pressing into the connection. Soft moans already urging him on.

Crowley took both of Aziraphale’s wrists in his hands and pinned them to the nest. He rolled his own aching, clothed arousal between inviting thighs. “As much as I am thoroughly tempted. We are on a schedule today, dove.”

Aziraphale pouted at his husband. Who in turn provided a mocking pout. “You started this you know.”

“Yes. You married a demon, remember.” Crowley kissed his angel deeply before pulling away. “Now, get up. Get dressed. I don’t think they let people walk nude through customs.” he couldn’t help but grin at the thought. “And eat your breakfast. Dr Anathema’s order.” Crowley sprang back up before he could be snared by his angel.

Aziraphale let out a resigned sigh but would do as instructed. He begrudgingly rose from their nest looking over the chaos of their room. Finding his silk robe he tied it in place. On their dinette was a full English breakfast, cups of tea and cocoa, several pastries, and a beautiful bouquet of blush pink peonies. Aziraphale melted at the sight. “Thank you, Crowley.” He rushes over hugging his thoughtful husband from behind. Crowley who was busy folding and packing clothing into a suitcase stopped. Aziraphale pressed his face into his demon’s back. “These past two weeks have been the happiest in my existence. And it is all thanks to you.”

‘When you say things like that. God help me.’ “Love hath made me a tame snake.” he dropped the clothing and caressed those arms holding him close.

‘No. I want you as you are. All of you. The light and the dark. The exquisite beauty that is only you.’ “I would not truly want to tame you, Crowley. I…”

“I know, dove." he silenced his angel's fretting. "I have never felt free to be who I wanted to be. Until now. Milton didn’t know shit. Reigning in Hell still felt like servitude. Now I can just be, with you. Sometimes I feel like you’ll grow annoyed with my constant need for you.” ‘This is all I have wanted. It is so perfect it terrifies me.’

“Honestly, love. I worry you’ll grow tired of me. That it is all too much. Or I'm not affording you enough time to yourself.” ‘That you will grow bored of me.’

“After 6,000 years of not being able to have you. Like this. All I want is you. As much as you will let me have.” ‘Forever. I will be yours forever.’

“Quite right.” Aziraphale kisses between his husband's shoulder blades. “Perhaps one day we won’t be so desperate for each other. Though I can’t conceive of it now.” ‘Please God. Don’t let that happen.’

“You’ll tell me, yeah? If I am being too much?” ‘Whatever you need. I will be that for you.’

“Of course, love. As I hope you will for me as well. Now, stop fretting because you and I are in like mind on this regard.” ‘I will never grow weary of your affection.’

'Me, fretting?' “I love you.” ‘With everything I am.’

“And I you. And I will never tire of hearing or saying it.”

“Agreed.” Crowley presses his essence into Aziraphale ever so lightly to remind his angel how deeply his devotion is woven into every fabric of his being. Aziraphale pushes back their essences singing in unison.

Crowley abruptly pulls back into himself. ‘Fuck, we have to be at the airport in two hours.’ Sure he can hurry things along with a few miracles, but his angel takes forever to eat. He pats his angel’s arm. “ Eat. Get dressed.” he scolded. “You are very distracting.” ‘Don’t ever change.’

Aziraphale gives one last hug. He hurries to the little table and considers all of the offerings. Fried bread with orange marmalade, two fried eggs, two pork bangers, three rashes of bacon, pan-fried potatoes, grilled tomatoes, sauteed mushrooms, a serving of beans, and overly generous portions of black pudding and fried lamb kidneys.

Aziraphale had never been one for offal, but when done right he could see the appeal. Since the sudden need to eat struck him it was all he could think about. The minerally taste of the black pudding seemed to be exactly what his body wants. Anathema reasoned, during yesterday’s check-in, this could be similar to a mineral deficiency. The body craving what it needs. So Aziraphale indulges.

Aziraphale eats his fill, which turned out to be the majority of the offered meal. He patted his mouth with a napkin and turned to Crowley as he snaps the suitcases shut. Aziraphale is quite sure Crowley took more than the time needed to pack to distract himself from temptation.

Aziraphale felt well, energetic even. He stood intending to dress when he saw the nest. ‘I can’t leave it. I can’t sleep without it. Oh, this is silly. It is just a bunch of bedding.’ he turns away trying to ignore his growing panic. ‘It doesn’t feel right. I don’t want to leave the nest.’

Crowley notices Aziraphale worryingly studying the nest, hands wringing. “Dove? Is everything alright?”

Aziraphale is fixated on the nest, looking panicked. “I...Crowley I know it’s silly but…”

“The nest?” ‘I know. You can’t part with it.’

“I can’t leave it. It doesn’t feel right. I...I can’t leave the nest.”

“Then well take it with us. Once we get there I will miracle it over.”

Aziraphale let out a relieved breath. “Oh, thank you, Crowley.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ve gotten used to sleeping on the heap.” ‘It does feel wrong to leave it.’

Contentment mixes with excitement. He cuts his husband a coy look. Aziraphale picks a palest blue silk mesh set of undergarments. It is impossibly sheer with sparse floral appliques to conceal only what is necessary. The delicate set includes bra, panties, and garter. Aziraphale selects a pair of sheer nude hose with a seam running along the back.

Crowley notices his angel’s less than modest selection. 'You mean to vex me this morning.’ He watches with bated breath as first the panties are pulled on. They hide nothing except a sparse area in the front. Then the bra is drawn on. Luckily for Crowley Aziraphale still hasn’t mastered this art. His angel turns with pleading eyes. Crowley assists eagerly. Warm hands brushing his angel’s milky skin as he does. Next Aziraphale slides on the garter, the straps hanging loosely around succulent thighs. ‘How is dressing so seductive?’

When Aziraphale sits to pull on silk stockings Crowley is there. He takes the delicate hose from Aziraphale. Who looks at him questioningly. “Allow me, dove?” Crowley deftly glides the first stocking on so precisely it needs no adjustment. He secures the garter, pressing a kiss to his angel’s knee. He echos the action with the other. He can’t help but run his hands over those silken legs. His eyes focused on his angel’s with the look of a starving man. ‘You are infinitely gorgeous.’ He takes the shoes Aziraphale selected and slides one on, fastening the buckle. Hands caressing at his angel’s elegant ankle. “You are impossibly distracting.” He slides the other shoe on kissing the top of Aziraphale’s foot, buckle fastened.

Crowley can no longer contain himself. He surges up claiming his angel’s mouth. Aziraphale accepts his ravishing husband in a desperate embrace. For a moment they both forget why Aziraphale was getting dressed to begin with.

‘Schedule. You are ruining his surprise.’ Aziraphale forces himself to pull away. “Crowley you said we were on a schedule.”

‘Fuck.’ Crowley allows his head to fall to Aziraphale’s shoulder. “We are, but...Satan’s ballocks.” he groans in frustration. “Dress.” he kisses his angel’s flushed cheek. ‘I love you.”

Crowley steps away, hands clenching and unclenching. He disappears into the bathroom to collect himself. ‘How can an angel be so vexing?’

Aziraphale quickly dresses. A white button-up goes on first. Then a thin pale blue jumper over, leaving only collar and cuffs exposed. A tan pleated chiffon skirt is pulled on. The upper garments tucked underneath. His tartan bowtie is added. And of course, the cashmere cardigan completes the ensemble.

“Crowley, dearest. I am presentable.” Aziraphale calls out to his poor husband who is fighting for restraint. ‘I don’t know if this is a mercy or more torment.’

Crowley exits the bathroom chewing on nothing, hands shoved into tight pockets. ‘Get it together you lust addled demon.’ Crowley escorts his angel to the bentley and loads their luggage in the boot. Johann Sebastian Bach’s Body Language playing mockingly for the driver’s torment. “You are on thin fucking ice, car.” is growled at the bentley.

Crowley drives them to London City Airport. There, waiting for them, much to Aziraphale’s astonishment is a large jetliner. Aziraphale wonders if they are indeed late when he doesn’t see any other passengers boarding the hulking aeroplane.

Even more to Aziraphale’s amazement, the pilots and flight staff greet them personally. The captain all but bows to the pair. “G’ud morning Mr. Crowley. Mrs. Crowley. Everything is ready for take-off. We’ll have the lads see to your luggage.” Crowley simply nods.

Crowley leads his dumbfounded angel into the aircraft. It is luxurious to say the least. Far more spacious than any two beings need for air travel. Crowley guides his angel through the entryway and is greeted by a pleasantly smiling woman. “Mr. Crowley would you and your wife like a tour? Or I can show you to the stateroom. Lunch will be provided once we are in the air.”

“You can give the Missus here a tour if she likes. I know where the stateroom is.”

“Of course Sir.” she averts her eyes. Aziraphale tries to smile his thanks but is too quickly led away.

They pass by a spacious lounge and into a veritable bedroom, complete with an ensuite. The whole plane is opulence epitomized. “Crowley what on Earth is all this.”

“What? Didn’t want to cram in with a bunch of humans.”

“I am not complaining. But isn’t this a bit much?”

“This is the age of excess. We are eternal beings. If we don’t live a little what’s the point?”

“The crew…they were treating us as if we...”

“Yes. Look Aziraphale I bought a rather large, rather ostentatious plane as a well… Call it a wedding gift. For the both of us. Just in case.”

“You bought a plane? Just in case?”

“You never know when you’ll want to fly off to parts unknown. We can now. No assignments or head offices to stop us. At least I didn’t steal it.”

“As I appreciate.” Aziraphale takes another quick look around. Everything is resplendent. Glossy white cupboards, plush bed, gold detailing, and white leather chairs. Aziraphale doesn’t want to know how much the flying house costs. “It is extravagant darling. Thank you.” ‘I hope this was a selfish purchase and not one done to appease me.’

“Think of this as our honeymoon. A bit of extravagance is to be expected.”

“Honeymoon?”

“Yeah, we did get married. It’s customary. A little holiday away.”

“Crowley my loving husband I fear...That is to say...You have been so focused on caring for me and my needs that…” ‘I have been negligent in my spousely duties.’ “I have failed to take into account yours.”

‘Adorable fussy angel.’ “I have everything I need.” Crowley grabs Aziraphale by the waist and pulls his angel close. “Right here.”

“That is very flattering. Is there something, anything that I could do for you that you haven’t thought to ask?”

“Nothing offhand, no.”

“Oh well, perhaps...perhaps.” he searches. ‘Crowley likes cars, but really just one car. He likes alcohol, but we do that all the time. Plants? No, our flat doesn’t have any available room for more plants. If I knew where we are going I could plan something formal. He likes mischief but he can do that any old time. Perhaps I could assist him. No probably just muck it up. Oh, what to do?” his hands are wringing.

‘Fussy, well-meaning idiot. Don’t you get it? I have you.’ “Stop that. You are going to work yourself into a full panic.”

“I…” it hits him. Crowley has been focused solely on Aziraphale’s pleasure. Giving more than he takes. ‘What could I do that is just for him? Oh yes!’ “Crowley I would like to...uh... well you see you...You are ever so thorough as a lover. I would like, well if you would permit me...to reciprocate.”

“Reciprocate?”

“Yes. I believe the term for the act is fellatio.”

Crowley thinks his brain must have malfunctioned. He can’t help but look at his angel in disbelief. ‘Did you just ask to give me a blow job, thinking I would say no?’ His mind was so gone he didn’t realize his angel was still talking.

“I will think of a more formal gesture once we arrive at our mystery destination. But for the moment I would like to give you pleasure.”

“Aziraphale I am not saying no, but you already do please me.” 'How could you think otherwise?'

“Yes but I feel quite selfish.” 'Take and take. Never giving you anything in return.'

“You shouldn’t.” 'I enjoy helping you, pleasing you. It makes me feel useful, needed, wanted.'

“Please allow me this.” his eyes pleading with his demon.

“I already told you I am not saying no.” He smiled tenderly.

'When you smile like that I could melt into nothing.' “Oh, excellent. You could be on the bed or sitting. Standing is also an option, though it might be safer too not. How would you like me to uhhh…”

'Oh, you meant now?' “I thought this was an offer for later?”

“If you want…” he felt deflated. 'Perhaps he doesn't want this.'

His angel looked like he was about to start pouting. “No. No, no. Now’s good. Whenever.”

“Wonderful. Where would you be comfortable?” he smiles brightly at his husband.

“Bed. I think.” 'Hell, on the moon.'

Aziraphale approaches his demon, who is unmistakably tense. ‘It’s not like you haven’t done this to me. Selfishly I didn’t reciprocate then. I will be more attentive.’ Aziraphale gently takes Crowley’s reclaimed jacket by the lapels and eases it off his shoulders. “Relax dearest.”

Crowley realizes he has gone rigid. He forces himself to relax. His angel is watching him as each of his shirt buttons are undone. ‘Satan those eyes.’ Aziraphale reaches his trousers and with a good firm, yank frees his shirt. The remaining buttons opened, the shirt joins the discarded jacket. His angel takes his snakehead belt in hand and unfastens it. Then comes the button of his trousers. All the while those peerless blue eyes watching. The zipper slowly slid down. “Wait.”

Aziraphale looks at him in alarm. ‘Do you not want this? Have I crossed an unspoken line?’

“I want your clothes off, but the under bits to remain. Will you do that for me, dove?” his voice a low smooth purr.

‘Oh thank goodness.’ “Yes, love.” Aziraphale can’t contain his excitement.

Aziraphale gently pushes Crowley to sit on the bed. Cardigan is hastily removed and tossed to a nearby chair.

“Hold on.” Crowley's voice was commanding. Aziraphale stopped, hands ready to undo bowtie. “I want to watch you, dove. Please, take your time.” Crowley rests back on his elbows. His arousal apparent through tight leather.

Aziraphale slowly pulls the bowtie loose and lets it hang. The jumper was taken in hand and gradually pulled over his head. Aziraphale paused, letting the jumper fall to the floor. He unbuttoned the cuffs of white shirt, then slowly works each button open. Pale blue peeking through the widening fabric. Like before, focused cerulean eyes regard his husband. When he reaches the skirt he pulls the fabric free to finish. Once the buttons were undone he slowly opened revealing bra and ample breasts underneath.

Crowley desperately wants to reach out but restrains himself. ‘No, just watch. This is to be savoured.’

Aziraphale let the shirt fall to the floor. He unzips the skirt, allowing the garment to float gracefully down. Aziraphale stands before his husband in nearly nothing, save for that deliciously sheer lingerie. He moves towards his demon, eyes focused.

“Wait. Turn around for me, dove?”

Aziraphale does as instructed. Crowley sits up and presses a kiss to his angel’s back. A shiver tingles the length of Aziraphale’s spine. Crowley runs his finger under the strap holding up the hose and gives it a snap. Which earns him a delightful little squeak. Then he caresses Aziraphale’s supple bottom. Crowley bows forward pressing a kiss between the exposed flesh between panties and garter. “Will you keep this one for me, dove?”

“Yes” The others had long since faded, and he longed to have a cherished reminder of the time spent in each other’s arms.

Crowley bites down, sucking, leaving a perfect mark. He admires the already bruising skin. Crowley trailed a finger under panty line. Following the soft fabric down between his angel’s legs.

“Will you take these off for me too, dove? Don’t want them getting in the way. Can you do that for me?”

‘I know where this leads. You giving and me taking selfishly.’ “Crowley? I want to give you pleasure.”

“That would please me. Will you? For me, my love?”

‘If that is what you desire.’ “Yes.”

Aziraphale considers how, then decides to slowly push them down, bending forward for Crowley’s consideration. As he reaches his ankles Crowley grabs him and pulls him onto his lap. Either of Aziraphale’s legs coming to rest over Crowley’s. “That was quite a show, dove.” Slowly, Crowley spreads his legs. Pushing Aziraphale’s legs wider apart. His hand snakes around to rest on his angel’s abdomen. Aziraphale has gone quite still. ’Oh, how the tables turn.’ “Dove, you said you want to please me?”

“Yes. I was going to…”

“And you will.” He cuts his angel off. “But thissss” his hands dip down, finding that slick pearl and begins to rub. His angel sighing a delicious moan. “This pleassses me. Will you let me, dove?”

“As it pleases you, dearest. uuuhn.” Aziraphale rests against his husband, legs already trembling.

Crowley strokes Aziraphale, feeling his angel already so undone. His other hand cups his angel’s breast as he kisses along Aziraphale’s exposed neck. His angel is shaking leaning fully into him. The barbs of pleasure spiralling towards that height.

Though Aziraphale knows there are people just beyond their stateroom door, he can’t stifle the keens that escape his throat. All at once he is lost, stars dancing behind closed lids. Fingers coaxing him through each wave of ecstasy. He is left panting, resting against his husband.

“Thank you, dove.” Crowley purrs into his angel’s ear.

‘No. I will not be selfish this time.’ Aziraphale scrambles to his knees before Crowley can distract him further. With a snap, Crowley is naked. To the demon’s surprise. Aziraphale takes his husband’s effort in already slick hand. He watches his demon’s beautiful features as he gently strokes his length. Crowley groans, head falling back. Aziraphale leans in licking the underside of his husband’s effort.

Crowley forces himself to look up. Watching his angel take time licking at velvety head. Encouraging sounds of pleasure spur Azirphale on.

Aziraphale envelopes Crowley with his lips. A groan is strangled in Crowley’s throat has his arousal disappears into his angel’s hot wet mouth. Aziraphale tries to mimic what Crowley did with him weeks before. He sucks and caresses with his tongue. Remembering all the sensations Crowley drew from him. Then he slides down, taking Crowley’s whole effort in. He feels his demon’s arousal twitch. Crowley’s hands tangle into his hair, pulling. The sensation stings enticingly. He moans in response.

‘Shit, you are hurting Aziraphale.’ Crowley realizes what he is doing and pulls his hand away. Guilt raking at his insides.

Aziraphale grasps it before it is out of reach and returns it to his curls. He pulls up almost all the way off before descending down once again. He repeats this several times. Moaning as his husband’s hands tighten harshly in his hair. Crowley is shaking, nearing his release. Aziraphale pushes down, sheathing Crowley deep in his throat. A loud groan is all the warning he has as his demon spills into him.

Crowley is panting, running his fingers through downy curls. “You can do that whenever you like.”

“Did that please you, my love?”

He huffs a laugh. “Yes. By someone’s sake Aziraphale you are exquisite.”

“I have a wonderful tutor.” he nudges his demon playfully.

Crowley pulls his angel onto the bed. Holding Aziraphale until he can function again. They took lunch in their room, once they were once again dressed.

4:00 PM Nice

The plane touches down and the stewardess from before, who didn’t miss any of the sounds coming from the stateroom smiles at the lovely couple. “Welcome to Nice.”.

Aziraphale turns to Crowley. “France?” it is a question, but one of happiness.

He shrugs. “What? Nice is nice. You like France.”

“Oh, I do darling. Thank you.” 'Beautiful thoughtful demon.'

“After you, wife” wife was said in a way that amused Aziraphale, but lost on the humans.

They exit the plane into the Aeroport Nice Cote d’Azur. The airport is full of people hurrying here and there. None aware of the entities currently in their presents. They miraculously make quick time through customs. Crowley guiding them through the sea of humans out to the city. The air is perfect, a light breeze wisps through Aziraphale’s hair.

The only drawback is he has to hold his skirt down for modesty’ sake. The faint smell of the sea washes over him. Aziraphale takes in their surroundings. There, parked waiting at the entrance is the Bentley.

‘Of course.’ “I should have known you wouldn’t leave your beloved automobile behind.” Crowley simply smiles. Their luggage already loaded into the boot. “So far this is turning out to be a wonderful honeymoon.”

“Just wait. It gets better.” ‘I hope whatever is causing you to suffer was left in London.’

Crowley puts the car into drive. George Gershwin’s Seaside Rendezvous announcing their arrival to the beautiful French Riviera coastal city. They travelled the Promenade des Anglais. Aziraphale hadn’t been to this part of France in over two hundred years. He was amazed by how it had changed, and how much still remained the same. His eyes were glittering brightly as Crowley leisurely drove them on.

They pull up outside of a beautiful villa perched precariously on the cliffs overlooking the beautiful azure bay. Crowley is greeted by a man, “Monsieur Anthony J. Crowley je présume.”

“Oui. Donnez-nous les clés et partez.” Crowley grouses at the now annoyed looking man.

The man shoves the keys in Crowley’s hand and turns. Grumbling ‘Putain de touristes.’ on his retreat.

Aziraphale missed most of the exchange. He was loathed to admit his French hadn’t improved from the Bastille debacle. Crowley opened the door and ushered him inside. With a snap, all of their luggage was consigned upstairs, neatly put away.

“Have a look around love. I am going to let Bookgirl know we arrived.”

Aziraphale nodded and began roaming through the lovely villa. The walls were a soft lemon yellow. Beautiful mosaic tile floors through the first level. There were many terraces. One of the lower, near the sea had a beautiful garden. Purple bougainvillaea, native palms, several types of shrubs, fragrant lavender and a cascade of blue jacaranda that clung to the cliffside. He could imagine them taking breakfast out there.

In the living room, there was a marble staircase that led up. On the second floor, the walls became a soft cream. Floors were hardwood in a chevron pattern. Everything felt light here.

A pocket of calm in a crazy world. The light diffused through the windows making everything seem to glow. Aziraphale wandered from room to room taking it all in. When he found the master bedroom he smiled. There where a bed should have been was their nest. ‘True to your word as always.’

The doors to the terrace were open. Aziraphale felt pulled towards the view of the bay below. It was breathtaking. Azure blue waters, calm, gentle waves lapping at the rocky shore. Everything beyond the villa was full of life. Boats milling about. He could see distant humans enjoying the beach. ‘Perfect for a honeymoon.’

Crowley followed the warm sensation of love up the stairs and into the bedroom. He froze as he saw his angel standing on the terrace bathed in sunlight. Curls slightly swaying with the breeze. ‘Do you know how beautiful you are?”

Aziraphale hears his husband enter. He turns seeing his demon in the arched doorway. “Crowley this is so beautiful.” his eyes are full of tears.

Crowley smiles. ‘Well done, me. For once.’ He saunters over to his angel, taking hold from behind. Moulding into Aziraphale’s back. “You know this place has quite the legend.” He rests his chin on his angel’s shoulders.

“I love a good story.” Aziraphale leans his head to Crowley’s

“If you hear the humans tell it, after the business with the apple, your charges came here. Guided by angels. So they say.” he informs into his angel's ear.

“You mean...Adam and Eve?” 'Surely not.'

“It’s just a legend. Humans wouldn’t make it this far until long after they were dead. They call this the Baie des Anges.” 'Poor bastards.'

“Bay of Angels...Agnes.” ‘Be contented Principality. Be held in thy Serpent coils. Upon the Bay that shareth thy name. Ye will be at peace.’ "Crowley! Agnes knew we would come here.”

“Always on the money.” Crowley hugged his angel tighter.

‘Yes, she is.’ “Thank you, darling. You have really outdone yourself.”

“It’s not over yet. We…” a kiss to shoulder “Are going…” kiss to neck “to explore every inch…” a nip at ear “of this paradise.” Aziraphale turns his head to his husband. Mouth accepting a tender long kiss. “We have the villa for as long as you like.”

“It is exquisite.” 'As are you.'

‘No more so than you.’ “Now, we need to get you fed. This place is the land of fine cuisine.”

“I am at my leisure. Where should we try first?”

They had a wonderful dinner that night at La Reserve. The establishment boasted a magnificent panoramic view of Nice. The wait staff informed them the building was constructed in 1862. Aziraphale felt a sting of guilt remembering that particular year. He gave his husband the most sombre of apologetic looks. His demon’s response was simply, “We have each other now.” And it was true.

Every dish was a masterpiece. An expression of colours complemented by exquisite design. The flavours were vibrant and layered. Aziraphale felt another twinge of guilt disturbing the delicate craftsmanship that went into each offering.

After dinner they walked along the promenade, taking in some of the sights. Crowley cursing the city lights for drowning out the celestial ones. This gave Aziraphale an idea. One of many, now that he knew where they were. ‘I can’t wait to surprise you.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	11. Beneath the Heavens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets to make good on failed plans. 
> 
> (Sorry this chapter took so long to post. I had to work on revising the pacing of the chapters. This story will still be long, but I got a little overzealous in my research of Nice.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG AMAZING SHOUT OUT TO THE AMAZING AccroV! Thank you so much for being so kind and assisting me with the French dialogue. I apologise for the mistakes.

Chapter 11  
9:00 am Friday 6 September 2019

Nice

Aziraphale awoke in his husband’s arms. He turned to see his demon smiling in his early morning dreams. His hair looked like spun copper in the golden rays seeping through the windows. ‘Thank you for loving me.’ He pressed the faintest kiss to Crowley’s mouth, careful not to wake him. Crowley had made it a point to be up before Aziraphale every morning since he fainted. Today, Aziraphale reasoned it would be a kindness to allow his husband to sleep in.

Aziraphale donned his plush powder blue robe. Heading toward the kitchen to make tea. A knock echoed through the silent villa. Aziraphale hurried to the door. Yesterday before supper, they stopped at several shops near the villa. While Crowley arranged for local shops to deliver groceries and wine, Aziraphale had seen to it that a beautiful bouquet with specific blooms was to be delivered this morning. He opened the door to a sweet-looking young man.

‘Bonjour Madame, j'ai une livraison pour Aziraphale.’ the young delivery man smiles.

“Je te remercie Aziraphale.” Aziraphale smiled at the young man. Who was now looking at him in puzzlement. ‘Oh dear, that wasn’t right.’ Aziraphale thought, then cleared his throat. “Je suis Aziraphale. Merci d'avoir livré les fleurs.”

The boy simply smiled and nodded. “Je vous en prie, Madame. Sont-elles à votre satisfaction?”

Aziraphale scrutinized each flower carefully. Pink and purple hydrangeas, perfect blush peonies, purple stock, rosy cloud daffodils, and white chrysanthemums and carnations. They were all flawless. Aziraphale couldn’t wait for his green-thumbed husband to see the exquisite blooms. “Oui elles sont parfaites!”

The young man smiled again, “Merci m'dame. N'hésitez pas à nous solliciter si vous avez besoin d'autre chose.”

“En fait, ici.” Aziraphale hands the boy a slip of paper. “Si vous pouviez les livrer le matin?”

“Oui m'dame. Je vais m'en occuper personnellement.” the boy smiles accepting the paper.

“Oh, bless you. I-I mean ... Soyez béni. Merci beaucoup...uhhh... Bonne journée.”

The boy nods and leaves. Aziraphale carries the flowers inside and places them on the dining table, adjusting it just so. He considers them for a moment, brows furrowed contemplating. ‘I hope Crowley likes them.’ Aziraphale hurries and makes coffee and tea. Setting them out near the flowers. He only took the first sip of tea when lips pressed to his cheek.

“Good morning, dove.” Crowley nuzzled against his angel’s ear.

“Good morning, husband.” Aziraphale crumbles every time the name dove comes from his demon’s lips.

Crowley caresses his angel’s arms as he surveys the table. Black coffee, tea, and a bouquet he was quite sure wasn’t there last night.  
“Those are new,” he said, kissing Aziraphale’s temple.

“Yes. I had them delivered.” ‘I hope I did the right thing.’

“They are beautiful.” ‘This is one of your “I am selfish things” isn’t it.’ “For me?”

“Yes, love.”

Crowley considered the arrangement. ‘There is a lot of meaning to these particular flowers. Of course, you would try to revive that old victorian practice. Just like that coat. Probably had something to do with the whole thing, to begin with.’ Sure they were pleasant to look at. The stock and peonies have the most heavenly, well not heavenly scent. ‘Heaven smelled like a sterile surgical room.’ These were delicately sweet with a hint of spice. ‘I know, angel. I love you too.’ “Thank you, Aziraphale.” He hugged his angel tightly before sitting in the chair, taking coffee in hand.

They drank in silence before they both hurried to say.

“So what do you have planned today?”  
“It is a beautiful day. What do you say about going to the beach?”

“Oh! The beach sounds wonderful...only…”

“Only?” ‘This better not be one of your “I’m soft” excuses.’

“I don’t have the appropriate attire for the beach.” ‘If I had known I would have prepared.’

“A bathing suit?”

“Yes, that would be it.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I brought one along.” he sipped his coffee. ‘Not sure how you will feel about it.”

“Oh?” They hadn’t purchased one while shopping. ‘When did he pick one up?’

“Yeah, s’upstairs. Perhaps we should go change? Get you some breakfast?” ‘This was far too easy.’

“Alright, beach it is.” Aziraphale agrees with a happy wiggle.

Upstairs was, in fact, a bathing suit. A white, alternating lace and mesh one piece that was only solid over the bust and bottom. It might as well be a string bikini the way Aziraphale scrutinized the garment.

“Darling, this hardly leaves anything to the imagination.” turning the suit over in hand looking as if searching for more fabric.

“There will be a lot of people with less on. I can guarantee.” ‘Should take you to a nude beach so you can get a real eye full.’

“Yes, but...I haven’t been this naked in public since Rome. Even then I kept my towel on.” he pouted. ‘Even with the towel I felt rather exposed. Effort or not.’

“Look, it's fine. This is quite modest these days. And you will look stunning in it.” his angel was fretting. “Look, just try it on. Would you do that for me, dove?” he was learning how to get his way. Every time he uses the pet name, it earns him the most demanding pulses of desire.

‘Damn you. You know I can’t refuse you when you call me that.’ “Alright.” Aziraphale removes his robe and steps into the garment. He pulls it up and is surprised how comfortable it is. The fabric is soft, and the little flare of lace around the hips distracts from the fact that this is basically publicly acceptable lingerie. Aziraphale studies his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Well, it is rather lovely.” It hugs his body just right. Accentuating his new curves. He is rather growing used to this form. Aziraphale runs his hands over the cool fabric.

Crowley smiles, knowing he has won, shrugging out of his satin robe. He pulls on a simple black square-leg swimsuit. He puts on a pair of loose black linen pants and button-down. And of course his sunglasses. He offers Aziraphale a pair of white sandals and sunglasses to compliment the suit. His angel smiles and accepts them. Crowley sliding his own black pair on. The finishing touch is a gossamer caftan that falls to Aziraphale’s mid-thigh.

‘Oh, that is a little better.’ “You are ever so thoughtful, dearest.” Aziraphale kisses his husband, wrapping his arms around his neck.

Crowley kisses back, pulling his angel in close by the waist. “Purely selfish reasons.’ he smirks giving one last peck. He takes his angel’s hand, and they go to the Bentley.

They stop at a patisserie and pick up fig, blueberry, and anjou pear tartlets, Tarte tropézienne, Paris-Brest, palmier, Kouign-Amann, and the compulsory croissant.

11:00 am

Crowley drove them to Saint Laurent du Var’s Beach Club. Nice was beautiful, but the stony shores weren’t as pleasant as sandy beaches. When they arrive all the pastries already long gone.

Waiting for them is a lovely beach bed. White canvas curtains to afford them a modicum of privacy. Crowley quickly strips out of his linen ensemble, adjusting the band of his suit. Removing his sunglasses before giving Aziraphale an anticipatory look. “Well? Aren’t you going to join me?”

“If you don’t mind dearest I would like to just relax for a bit.”

“Are you feeling sick again?”

“Nothing like that, love. I just simply want to take in our surroundings. You go ahead. I promise to join you later.”

Crowley thinks, hands on his hips. ‘Is this your polite way of asking for alone time?’ “Alright. If you’re sure.”

“Yes, dearest. Go enjoy.” Aziraphale smiles to reassure his demon.

Crowley shrugs and turns walking to the cool blue clear water. Aziraphale watches as he wades out to waist deep, before diving below the gentle waves. Crowley staying under, longer than a human could on a single breath. Aziraphale starts to worry if anyone has taken notice.

Below the surface, Crowley enjoys the singular feeling of weightlessness. It reminds him of a time before. A time when he was more than a minor demon. Before the war, before he lost Her favour. He loses track of time, mind lost to memory. He wondered what Aziraphale had been like back then. What could have been if they met before time began? Would he have questioned God? Would he have risked their love for such things? If you asked him now, he would say no. Back then he didn’t have Aziraphale. Back then, he loved as angels were meant to, and it wasn’t enough. Crowley pushes off the bottom, breaking the surface with a loud splash. ‘Better to leave the past alone.’

Crowley spends a few long minutes paddling about. He tries to give Aziraphale time to enjoy the solitude. His angel was always better at finding things to occupy silent moments. It isn’t long before he grows bored and swims to shore.

Aziraphale notices his husband approaching, dripping wet. Long, lean frame glistening in the warm sunlight. Aziraphale has to avert his eyes before thoughts turn to other wanton pursuits. He quickly folds up Travels Through the French Riviera by Virginia Johnson.

“How was it, dearest?”

Crowley grabs one of the towels they brought with them. Running it over his body once before flopping on the bed. Elbows tucked beneath him, propping him up to look at his angel. “The water is amazing, angel. Put the bloody book down, swim with me.”

Aziraphale miracles the book back to the villa.“I will, darling. Just getting to know the area.” ‘And making my own plans.’

Crowley shifts on his back. “Have it your way.” he runs his fingers through his dripping hair. Pushing it away from his face and lays back.

Aziraphale sees his disappointment and snuggles alongside his still damp demon. Head resting in the crook of his shoulder. Children play at the shoreline. Chasing each other as their parents look on. Their giggles shrill and joyful, little smiles shining bright. Aziraphale notices Crowley grinning, contentedly watching the pair darting to and frow.

“They are having a wonderful time, aren’t they?” Aziraphale comments. ‘Softy.’

Crowley is pulled from the scene, “Yeah.” ‘Shame they grow up so fast.’ “Kids, they are so curious and full of life.”

“Is that why you are so fond of them?” Aziraphale asks snuggling closer. ‘Big soft sweet demon.’

“Fond?” ‘Just prefer the small ones to the selfish creatures they are destined to grow into.’

‘Don’t try to deny it.’ “Yes, dearest. You have always had such a soft spot for the little dears.”

“I dunno.” he thinks back on the horrible flood, the terrible wars and plagues. His chest aches at the millions of little souls that never had a chance to grow to their potential. “Just don't like seeing em hurt." He can’t look at the happy family any longer.

Aziraphale notices his husband trying to hide his sullen expression. ‘You love them more than all those pretenders in Heaven.’ "Nor do I. Babies are especially precious."

Crowley groans, "Lot of pooping and crying, babies. Though I suppose they must have their appeal."

Aziraphale crunches his nose. "Yes, excrement. One of the Almighty's odder creations."

"Hmmm. What were you reading?" Crowley asks needing to diverge from that line of discussion.

Aziraphale sits up, looking primly down on his husband. He affords him a mischievous smile. "You have your surprises, and I have mine.”

"Surprises?" ‘This should be interesting.’

"Yes." Aziraphale quickly kisses his demon. ‘And no, I am not telling you.’

‘If you want to play that game then.’ "You are going to surprise me with a book?" he cocks an eyebrow.

"I am not telling. You'll get no hints from me." his nose coyly poked up.

Crowley leans in whispering in Aziraphale's ear, "not one single hint." He takes earlobe in his mouth. Teeth nipping, making his angel gasp in surprise.

"Darling, we are in public." Aziraphale scans their surroundings for anyone who might have seen.

‘That is too adorable.’ "What? If we want to go unseen, the humans would be none the wiser." He pulls Aziraphale down on top of him.

Aziraphale manages to wriggle free and pushes up, "Be that as it may, it would make me uncomfortable." He gives Crowley a pleading look.

Crowley removes his hands from Aziraphale instantly. ‘Too far. Should have known better.’

Aziraphale sees his demon’s rejected eyes focused on the water. “That is not to say all affection. Just our more intimate moments I should like to keep private." ‘Please don’t look so sad.’

Crowley looks over. Aziraphale looks like a weight has suddenly settled hard on those soft shoulders. ‘Fuck. You are blaming yourself again.’ Crowley thinks. Generally in such situations, he would pick at Aziraphale’s uptight sensibilities. Aziraphale would scold him, perhaps laugh, but not look so disheartened. Crowley holds up his fingers to snap "Sooo... as long as there is no one around?"

"Anthony J. Crowley don't you dare." He said sternly. A blush burning in his cheeks.

"Then take off that cover-up and swim with me, dove." ‘So predictable, you.’

Aziraphale cuts him a scolding look, "Fine. You wily serpent." ‘Incorrigible.’

Aziraphale stands, about to remove the caftan when he looks around. Checking to see if anyone is watching. Crowley sees hesitation and stands, coming to his angel’s side. Aziraphale’s brows are drawn up in distress. Crowley takes the hem of the garment in hand, “You are beautiful you daft fussy angel. Nobody is even looking.” Aziraphale sighs his acquiescence. Crowley guides the covering off of his angel and takes his hand, leading them to the sea.

‘Crowley was right. The water is invigorating.’ They spent several hours lost in the gentle rolling of waves, stolen kisses, and the warmth of each other's arms. Aziraphale can’t help but notice Crowley’s definition of swimming is cuddling in the water. He is so contented he doesn’t even notice when he starts to tire.

Crowley sees it first. Aziraphale has gone a bit pale. It is everything Crowley can do to choaks down his fear. He hadn’t allowed his angel a moment to become fatigued in days. “Let’s get lunch.’ He hurries Aziraphale back to their sea bed. He closes the curtains, leaving only Aziraphale’s side unsecured.

Crowley orders for them. Soon a bountiful lunch is brought. Aziraphale savours the cuisine. The fresh seafood and local ingredients are scrumptious. Once the colour has returned to his angel’s cheeks, they lay down. The gentle breeze, warm sun, soft waves, and sounds of children playing lull them both to sleep.

They remain like that, in various states of consciousness until the sun begins, it’s decent. Crowley checks his large watch. “Alright, time to be getting back.”

5:00 pm

The ride back to their villa is a veritable history lesson. Aziraphale chatters on about each landmark they pass. Even some they can’t possibly see from the Promenade. They arrive back at the villa, and there on the dining table is a large white box. Aziraphale looks at it wondering if he is meant to open it. His husband smiles like the cat that got into the cream.

Crowley takes the box in one hand, and his angel’s in the other. Upstairs the box is placed on the nightstand hear their nest. Crowley gestures to the box, “Open it.”

Inside, wrapped in tissue is a silvery-white silk organza dress. Stars picked out in crystals and glass beads, with bursts of varying size crystals throughout. Making the dress look like there's a galaxy glittering across the fabric. Aziraphale’s hand hovers over the striking raiment.

“Crowley, it is exquisite.” His eyes are full of wonder. ‘One human thing Gabriel and I can agree on.’

Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hand away from the box and kisses his angel’s knuckles. “Would you wear this tonight for me, dove?”

“Of course. May I ask as to the occasion?” ‘No common dinner arrangments call for such finery.’

“Seems the Nice Philharmonic Orchestra is holding a preview concert for those who can’t attend their upcoming church event.” he shrugs smirking his amusement.

Aziraphale fights to hide his delight. He manages to give Crowley his best mock scolding look, “I am sure you had nothing to do with it, dear.”

“I would have taken you to the church, but…” he looks as if he is a disappointment. Looking at the boxed dress and not Aziraphale. ‘I could have if I hadn’t Fallen.’

Aziraphale cups his husband’s cheeks gently between his hands. Turning that haunted face to meet him. “Crowley, please love I didn’t mean it like that. One time of seeing you in pain was far more than I can bear.”

Still not looking at his angel “If I wasn’t a demon we could…”

Aziraphale holds Crowley firmly in place. “It is my turn to tell you I will have none of this. You, my fabulously wonderful husband, are a demon, yes. But you are so much more. You are kind, don’t correct me. You are considerate, gentle, trustworthy, dependable, curious, patient, witty, and positively alluring in all that you are. And the most wonderous husband a silly angel could ever hope for. It hurts to see you be so uncharitable toward yourself.”

“M’not...” ‘You’re giving me qualities you want to see.’

“No, I will hear none of that. You tell me all the ways you love me. Things I don’t see in myself. Do you believe those things to be true? Or are they idol compliments? Kind words and nothing more?” Aziraphale was stern now. ‘You also have the skull of an ox at times.’

Crowley looks deeply offended. “Of course not Aziraphale! How could you…”

Aziraphale stops him by placing a hand on his husband’s chest.“Then, is it not possible that as I don’t see those things, you can’t see the beauty I see in you?” ‘Perhaps we are both oxen.’

He considers this a long moment. Part of him doesn’t believe it. But a small voice in the back of his mind thrills at the thought. “S’pose so.”

“And just because you can not go into a church, really? Do you think that that truly disappoints me?” Aziraphale demands, a brow raised.

‘That part of who you are I can never be?’ “Doesn’t it?”

“Crowley it is just a building. Most have had their fair share of sorted histories at any rate. Surprised they can even be consecrated.” Aziraphale looks up at his demon, pleading for him to understand. “I will never prize anything over you.”

“Not even your bookssss?” he tries to joke.

“I would be sad to part with them. But I will choose you over my books this moment. If that is what it will take to prove to you how much I love you.”

‘Well damn.’ he is a bit taken back by his angel’s sincerity. “No. You are right. I’ll work on it.” ‘I still don’t think I will ever see what you see.’

“Good.” Aziraphale nods, shoulders swaying with pride. ‘He likes to feel needed.’ “Now, this dress looks rather complicated. Will you assist me?”

Aziraphale gently removes the gown from the box and fluffs it out. It is like something out of a dream. ‘Probably is. Crowley’s imagination at any rate.’ Aziraphale hands the dress to Crowley and goes to the dresser to select undergarments. Aziraphale pulls out a white and a nude bra considering them. Crowley lays the dress down on the chest and searches through the drawer. He holds up a sheer pair of nude lace panties. “Only these, dove.”

Aziraphale registers what Crowley didn’t offer. “No, brassiere?”

Crowley smirks. 'This is all going exactly to plan.' “No, the dress isn’t made so you can wear one.” He hands his angel the undergarment. Then works to slip the bathing suit from Aziraphale’s shoulders. He guides the suit down, exposing his angel’s breasts. He assesses them before assisting Aziraphale out of the suit.

“Crowley, isn’t that a bit, well, tawdry?” Aziraphale looks down at himself. His breasts weren’t a trivial matter. He worried if the organza would be able to restrain the weight of them.

‘The world can get fucked.’ “Nobody will think you a tart in this dress, trust me.” Crowley, in truth, would curse the first person who even dared give his angel the slightest of disapproving looks.

Panties are pulled on, and the dress is brought over Aziraphale’s head. There is no zipper. Instead, the back is open in a deep v to the waist, stars clustered up the length. Crowley assists his angel in sliding into the delicate sleeves. Which are so thin they are barely seen, except for the stars and crystals twinkling along the length. A small loop secures the ends to the middle finger. The bodice appears from a distance to have a low plunging sweetheart neckline, but in actuality, there is a ghostly thin mesh allowing stars and crystals to appear floating on Aziraphale’s pale skin. Along with the close-fitted ones, there are gathered split- sleeves flowing to the floor. The whole thing is impossibly sheer. Any undergarments other than the one Aziraphale is wearing could be clearly seen, through the fabric. Ethereal is the only word that comes to mind.

Aziraphale goes to the vanity mirror. It as if he is painted with starlight. “Crowley I…”

“Are stunning.” ‘As always. Clothing will never change that.’

Aziraphale feels the prickle of tears. “Thank you, dearest.” ‘I won’t cry in this dress.’

“Will you let me do up your hair, dove?” he asks, pulling out the little stool. Aziraphale smiles and sits, back elegantly straight. His angel keeps tracing delicate fingers over the little stars. Seeming to be lost in deep thought. Crowley pins his angel’s now fully shoulder-length hair into a coiffure of ringlets in the back. Securing small crystal stars throughout. Several curls are intentionally left loose around his angel’s face.

Aziraphale is handed a tiny box. ‘Good Lord, more gifts? Do you not think this is all more than enough?’ Aziraphale opens the velvet box. Inside are two teardrop diamonds on impossibly dainty white gold chains.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you have pierced ears.” he purrs into one of said ears. Aziraphale watches in the mirror as Crowley takes the gems in hand and slides each in place. “Perfection.”

Aziraphale had to admit Crowley had a refined taste in fashion, “Crowley you spoil me.”

“I have wanted to spoil you rotten for quite some time, dove.” He takes his angel’s chin between his fingers and turns that perfect face to him.”Please let me?”

Aziraphale smiles up at his doting husband. “Only if you allow me to reciprocate from time to time.”

“Is that what we are calling it now?” he teases.

Aziraphale tuts and turns away in coy disapproval. “No, you fiend. I meant, will you also allow me to indulge you?”

“I don’t think you realize you already do.” ‘Every moment I have with you.’

Aziraphale turns back and stands. Quickly taking his husband’s hand. “Not as I would like.”

‘Fussy angel.’ “Then spoil away.”

Aziraphale considers. Thinking of a thousand options at once. “Crowley?”

“Yes, dove.” he presses a kiss to his angel’s forehead, before disappearing into the closet to dress.

“Next Thursday, do you already have plans?” ‘Please say no. It is vital to mine.’

“None that can’t be rearranged,” he calls out. ‘So Thursday will be the surprise.’

“I would like you to leave that day free. I-I... may have plans for us that day.” ‘Don’t give to much away. He is crafty.’

“The book?” Crowley teases in a singsong tone.

“Well, it assisted me in forming those plans, yes.” ‘I will tell you nothing more beloved adversary.’

“Alright. Thursday is all yours.” ‘Can’t wait to see what you’ve cooked up.’

“Thank you, dearest.” ‘Perfect’ he can’t help but wiggle.

Crowley smiles and returns from dressing. He is wearing a polished all-black three-piece suit and tie. Making their two outfits quite the contrast. A small silver snake pin sits coiled on his lapel. Snakeskin boots abandoned for sleek black dress shoes.

‘It is not fair how gorgeous you look in everything you wear.’ “You are so beautiful, Crowley.”

“I think tonight, as always, angel, you have me beat.” He tilts Aziraphale’s chin up for a quick kiss.

Aziraphale blushes. Crowley offers his arm, and they go to the Bentley. Franz Shubert’s Heaven for Everyone softly floating in the air.

6:30 pm

At the Opera de Nice, they sit in a private box near the stage. The whole room is awash in gold and red. Making the blonde in white, and the redhead in all black, contrast starkly against their surroundings. The concert began on schedule. Well, Crowley’s schedule anyways.

Aziraphale took his husband’s hand as the first triumphant calls issue from the orchestra. He recognizes it instantly as Antonio Vivaldi’s Concerto for two trumpets in C. major. Aziraphale leans into the notes as they dance through the air. Violins a quick staccato duelling the effervescent horns. It reminds Aziraphale of the moment he was assigned to Eden. He was so excited to be given charge of such an important post.

The unmistakable jarring first chords of Jean-Fery Rebel’s The Elements, Chaos brought Aziraphale out of his daydream. He jerked into Crowley as if the murderer of a horror movie just popped on screen. “Good Lord, I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Good thing I was in the area, dove.”

Aziraphale tutted, but leaned against Crowley all the same. The orchestra played through The Elements splendidly. Aziraphale closed his eyes once again lost in the richness of the beautiful work. Music was a language all of its own. Every note carrying the composer’s intentions. Speaking of emotions and thoughts often, no words can surmise.

When Rebel gave way to Johann Sebastian Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 1 in F major. Aziraphale turned to his husband. “Tonight has been amazing my, love. But I do hope you understand I don’t need all these material things to love you.”

“I know, dove. I had a similar evening planned the night we bonded. I had tickets to your Albert Hall. Just getting it right this time is all.”

Aziraphale smiled, “You dearest, are what the humans would call a romantic.”

“Guess that comes with loving someone for 6,000 years.”

“Quite. Alright but I am setting a rule. You and I will only go to excess on special occasions.”

“Fair. I like our little corner of mundane and quiet. Let’s just enjoy tonight.” Aziraphale snuggles back into Crowley, head resting on broad shoulders. The concert concluded some twenty minutes later and the house cheers. Aziraphale stands applauding beaming brightly at the performers.  
9:00 pm

They had reservations or at least an expectation of their arrival at Le Chantecler. Crowley threatened the poor valet with torture in hell if he found a single scratch on the Bentley. They were shown to their table overlooking the bay. Their waiter greeted them. “ BBonsoir Madame, Monsieur. Célébrez-vous une occasion spéciale?"”

“Oui, j'ai épousé l'amour de ma vie”

“Congradutlations. Êtes-vous ici en lune de miel?”

“Oui!" he is delighted that his French may be slowly improving.

They eat the sumptuous offerings of the expert chefs. The Sommelier pairs each dish precisely. Between Aziraphale’s appreciative moans and nattering about each dish, there isn’t a moment of silence. Crowley drinks until the room becomes a bit fuzzy.

The meal concludes with an apple dessert. Crowley insists on feeding Aziraphale. To his surprise, the apple is smokey and sweet. It contrasts beautifully with the warmth of the calvados, the richness of the cream, and tart bite of vinegar. The texture is provided by puffed spelt, which gives the whole dish a rich nutty note. Aziraphale has a feeling the dessert might be why his husband chose this establishment. It reminds him of his demon.

Dinner concluded, the wine finished, they return to their villa. Crowley has one more thing he wishes to do before he allows this day to end. He guides Aziraphale out to the patio. Once out beneath the starry sky, he pulls his angel into his arms. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight, dove?”

“Yes, dearest. It was all so wonderful.”

“Good.” he kisses his angel’s perfect nose. “Will you do something for me? Will you dance with me, dove?” ‘I have wanted to dance with you for so long. Please say yes.’

“Crowley, I only know the gavotte. I don’t think this dress is meant for such rigours.” ‘I am not refusing you. Please don’t think I am refusing.’

‘I love you, but I will never dance the gavotte.’ “No. It’s far more simple than all that. We just hold each other and sway with the rhythm.”

“That doesn’t sound so difficult.” ‘Yes, yes, I will dance with you.”

Crowley takes his phone from his pocket and turns on B.B. King’s Come Rain or Come Shine. His hand returns to the exposed skin between shoulder blades, the other holding Aziraphale’s in a relaxed hold to the side. They sway to the songs sensual beat.

The words aren’t lost on Aziraphale. He presses his temple to his husband’s cheek. Crowley’s hand gently caressing his back as they shift slightly from foot to foot. When the song ends, Aziraphale finds they continue to dance in the silence.

In recent moments similar to this tenderness Aziraphale wanted to chastise himself. ‘We could have had this for centuries. Danced through history in each other’s arms. This is worth any amount of danger. I am an ox.’

Aziraphale turns to meet his husband’s eyes. On a trembling breath, he asks, “Take me to our nest. Make love to me?”

Crowley only nods. A fluttering of love, anticipation, and desire seep into him. He kisses his angel, who removes his jacket and leaves it on the blue iron table. They slowly kiss their way inside, tie, vest, shirt and shoes discarded, leaving a trail towards the stairs. Belt removed, trousers are undone falling to the floor as they stop. Crowley unpins his angel’s hair. Fingers sliding through those curls, causing little stars to disappear. Aziraphale’s hair falls in mussed waves, sweeping tops of shoulders. Crowley slowly peels Aziraphale out of the starlight gown, draping it over the stair rail. He turns his angel, kissing down smooth pale back. Gradually Crowley assists Aziraphale out of the lace undergarment. Pressing a kiss to the mark left yesterday. Every inch of him is suddenly enveloped in pulsing warmth.

Aziraphale turns to face his husband. He kneels, removing Crowley’s boxers. His arousal already at attention. Aziraphale stares up at his demon as he kisses a prominent hip. “May I?” eyes pleading.

‘For someone’s sake, yes. Mark me as yours.’ “Yes.”

Aziraphale kisses tenderly one last time before he opens his mouth and bares down. Teeth biting, sucking at the taut skin. Crowley gasps clutching the railing to steady himself. Aziraphale licks up the length of the hip bone when he is satisfied with his work.

Crowley pulls Aziraphale up, kissing his angel deeply. Hands wrap around, smoothing over ample cheeks, down between thighs, and picking Aziraphale up. Legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. They ascend the stairs. Aziraphale kissing Crowley languidly.

Crowley kneels, lowering them to the nest. His angel takes his left hand in right, letting it be pinned to the nest. Crowley gently slides into Aziraphale’s warmth. Hips thrusting unhurried, building slowly to that peak. Crowley presses gentle kisses over his angel’s upper body. The soothing waves of pleasure, emitting from Aziraphale, sing to his essence. He pushes in, essence prickling against Aziraphale’s. His angel is moaning, trembling, aching beneath him. He withdrawals almost all the way, before slowly sheathing himself again in steadily focused thrusts. Aziraphale turns, eyes shut tight, biting at the side of their joined hands.

Crowley brings his free hand to caress at his angel’s cheek, “Can you look at me, dove?” Aziraphale complies, eyes telling of the agonizing climb. “Just like that, dove. Let me see you.”

Aziraphale is keening, struggling against the pleasure to keep eye contact with his husband’s possessing golden eyes. He feels as the last few tender thrusts claw him to the summit. His legs tightening on their own. He can’t fight it any longer as his necks strains, head falling back, the orgasm breaking through him. Aziraphale’s hand grips Crowley’s harshly. His whole body convulsing in ecstasy.

“That’s it, dove. You are so beautiful. I’ve got you.” Crowley coaxes his angel through each wave of orgasm. Never faltering in his concentrated pace. Several thrusts later Crowley groans, spilling into his angel.

Crowley slips free. Positioning himself, so he's cradled between Aziraphale’s thighs, head resting on his angel’s chest. They fall asleep, neither willing to separate. Hands still clasped at their sides. The waves below crashing against the cliffs bidding them pleasant dreams. And pleasant they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	12. The Stars in Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprises abound for Crowley. 
> 
> (Please note I had to edit a previous chapter. Not that anyone would call me out on it. I found there was a real-world scheduling conflict that would make the events of the story implausible on that Monday. And my brand of obsession wouldn't allow me the oversight. Thank you for reading. I hope you all enjoy.)

Thursday 14 September 2019  
6:00 am  
Nice

Their week had been marvellous. They toured all the major cultural sights Nice had to offer. The food was impeccable and varied. The only thing Aziraphale disliked about the culinary scene in Nice was the difficulty choosing what to select next. Crowley enjoyed just seeing is angel free from anxiety for the first time since they met. Though their new game of guess Aziraphale’s surprise was beginning to grate on his angel’s nerves. Which made it all the more amusing. 

On Sunday, Crowley succeeded in keeping his angel in bed the entire day. Food did not go missed. Between the grocers and food delivery, neither stepped a foot from the villa. Crowley had his fill of fine dining as well.

In the evening Crowley would send their witch updates. Unbeknownst to his angel, several pictures accompanied the reports. One of Aziraphale on their beach bed, holding a ridiculous cocktail, looking out over the bay. Another of his angel in a remarkable dress. And one of the two of them in front of Castle Hill Park’s waterfall. Anathema was still unable to come up with an explanation for Aziraphale’s condition. Though, thankfully, food and sleep seemed to keep the worst of it in check. 

Thursday came. Before the sun cracks the horizon, Aziraphale is up. He hurries downstairs, putting on the kettle and a pot of coffee. He knew he doesn’t have long before his husband is missing him, and comes looking. He spreads his map out on the patio table to make sure their routes are all precisely accounted for. Thanks to a certain floral delivery boy, the final pieces to his surprise have fallen nicely into place. ‘I hope there are no mishaps. Crowley deserves this.’

When he hears footsteps on marble, he folds the map and tucks it into the pocket of his favourite cardigan. He goes to the coffee machine and pours a generous cup. “Good morning, husband.” He smiles, turning to see Crowley stagger towards him, in nothing more than black boxers.

“Morning? It’s still dark,” he grumbles, accepting his coffee. 

‘You would think you were human the way you carry on in the morning.’ Aziraphale walks out to the patio. It is becoming part of their daily routine to take in the morning air there. He takes his usual seat. Watching his husband flop into his own. “It’s Thursday.” Aziraphale reminds, restraining a wiggle. 

‘Thursday? Right. The surprise.’ “Is it? Well, today is your day. Whatever will you do with me?” He takes a sip of coffee, peering over the rim of the cup. It is strong and bitter on his tongue. 

‘You haven’t pestered me into a confession yet. It is not happening you beguiling demon.’ “We, dearest, have a very busy schedule today. And as much as I enjoy our lazy mornings, I must insist you hurry and dress.”

“Hurry?” He drinks more of the superfluous liquid. 

Aziraphale sips his own tea before responding.“Yes. The first leg of our adventure is already preparing for business. I should like to get there by seven. Best get a wiggle on.” 

‘Wiggle on. Who even says that besides you?’ He quickly finishes the beverage in one gulp. “As you command.” 

‘Command? I dare say.’ Aziraphale cuts his husband a scolding look. “More of a firm request.”

Crowley stands, dismissing his cup, clean, to the kitchen. He presses a kiss to the top of angelic curls, then takes his leave. Before he is through the door, he turns back, “Aziraphale?” his angel shifts to look at him, smiling. ‘God, your smile.’ “If I could write the beauty of your eyes, And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say 'This poet lies; Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.'' Crowley disappears into the villa before Aziraphale has a chance to respond. 

Once they are both ready, and in the Bentley, Crowley turns to his angel. “Where to?" ‘You don’t have a GPS. I will win this game yet.’

‘You think I don’t know what you are attempting? Well, I will show you.’ Aziraphale pulls out his ludicrously large map, which takes up most of the dashboard. “Let us see.”

‘Bastard. Will you just get a smartphone already. A paper map? Really?’ “You know if you just tell me where we are going or give me the address I can…”

“NO!” ‘I am not giving in. This is a surprise, you dastardly fiend. Honestly.’ “It is meant to be a surprise. I will not have it spoiled,” he says, refusing to look at his impossible husband.

‘Stubborn. God, I love you.’ “Fine. No spoilers. Just don’t have me running anyone over.”

‘Me? You are the madman behind the wheel.’ “I seem to recall you managed that all on your own last time.” Aziraphale retorts.

“I…” ‘Shit.’ he can’t look at Aziraphale. ‘Fucking Apocolypse. Fucking head offices breathing down our necks. Flashes of love. I nearly told you everything then. I should have. Fucking coward.’ “When you were going on about flashes of love. I was…”

“Wondering how I never felt it from you?”

“No. Just worried I was giving myself away. Going too fast. Scaring you off again.” ‘And yeah, wondering why you never knew how I felt. If you could feel all that.’

‘So many hurts by my hands.’ “Oh, dearest, no.” Aziraphale scoots close to his husband. Eyes pleading his apology. “I was a little confused at first when, well, the first time I felt love coming from you. I thought perhaps I was imagining things. Then when I knew for certain it was love, I knew it was all too dangerous. I loved you and wanted you for myself. So I pretended not to know. I lied to myself. Told myself it was ludicrous. Not that you weren’t capable of love. But, that’s why we got on so well. That, at heart, we were the same. Beings of love. And you just loved everything as we are meant to. Not singularly as one loves another. As I love you.” ‘I was such a coward and an idiot.’

Crowley huffs a laugh. ‘Believing the best in even the enemy.’ “You thought that I just loved everything?” he asks incredulously. 

‘Stupid.’ “Simply the lie, I told myself. So as to not get close enough, to endanger us.” Aziraphale feels so shamed by his own actions he wonders again how his demon had such patience with him.

‘Pouting again? Why does that make me want to kiss you?’ Crowley leans into his angel. Taking that pitiful beautiful chin in hand. Thumb brushing lightly over quivering lip. “Have I told you today that I love you?” 

‘Patient, kind, loving demon.’ “I am not sure.” Aziraphale’s eyes find those tempting lips. “Perhaps you will just have to jog my memory.”

Crowley does, he kisses his angel pouring in his love. Essences brushing gently. He pulls back enough to look into those blue eyes. “I love you, Aziraphale.” This time Aziraphale is the aggressor. Kissing, pulling at his hair, tongues tasting, hearts and essences singing. 

After a long moment lost in each other’s arms Crowley manages to compose himself. “Right, lead on.” ‘Or we’ll have a repeat of Sunday.’

Aziraphale clears his throat, remembering his mission. “Head north.”

Twenty minutes and several wrong turns later they arrive at the Marché aux Fleurs du Cours Saleya. Aziraphale is bubbling with excitement. He pulls Crowley towards the striped canvas topped stalls. There before them a kaleidoscope of flowers in every imaginable colour. Potted plants ready to find a home in someone’s garden. Aziraphale can’t help but wonder what Crowley might do with a garden. 

Local artists are intermixed with the other vendors. Selling their creations, some even demonstrating their skill with live painting. There are also purveyors of fresh produce, cheese, local wine, and cured meats. Various pop-up restaurants are available to purchase a quick nibble. Each offering exceptional fare.

Aziraphale stops at each stall, giving the owner a smile and considering their goods. If Crowley shows any mild interest in something Aziraphale is there in case interest turns to want. He sees his demon looking over a small lemon tree, abundant with bright yellow fruit. He is inspecting the soil, assessing the leaves. This is the first thing Crowley took a real moment to consider. Aziraphale hurries to the merchant, paying more than the asking price.

Crowley doesn’t have a moment to react as he realises what Aziraphale is doing. The purchase was sealed with a handshake and a sweet smile. “You didn’t have to do that. Where the Hell am I going to put a lemon tree n’yway?” 

‘I can tell you wanted it. Frivolous or not.’ “I am sure we will figure it out. Think of it as a memento of our honeymoon. Menton has a whole festival dedicated to them.” Aziraphale presses a quick kiss to his husband.

‘The bookshop’s ceilings aren’t tall enough.’ “I don’t think I can get it into the Bentley.” He says, looking back at their new addition. 

“Not to worry.” Aziraphale made sure no one was looking and with a gesture made the lemon tree vanish. It would reappear on the patio of their villa. “All taken care of.” ‘We'll make it work.’ 

They continued their adventure. Aziraphale’s arm is laden with bags heavy with cheese, olives, fruits, wine, and cured meats. Sure that they weren’t for Crowley per se but he figured it was a necessary selfishness, on account of his condition. 

Crowley stopped at an exceptional produce stand and purchased a single red apple, while Aziraphale was distracted. His angel was buying up every imaginable flavour of jams, preserves, and marmalades. As Azirphale turns to find him, he is there, apple presented. 

Aziraphale looks first at the apple than to him. Those soft blue eyes recognising the gesture. “Care for a taste?” ‘You are so very tempting. Turn about’s only fair.’

‘Oh, that’s the game your playing. Serpent of Eden indeed.’ he cuts his demon his best coquettish smile. ‘Two can play that game dearest husband.’

Aziraphale takes the apple. Turning it over studying the fruit, a smile playing across that sublime mouth. His angel looks up at him, mischief sparkling in those brilliant blue pools. Teeth bite through the skin, eyes never looking away. The apple is offered back to him, a generous bite missing. Aziraphale licks those seductive lips. ‘How are you better at this than me?’ He, in turn, takes a bite of the sweet, crisp flesh. Crowley can’t help but grin. His angel is so much more than those self-righteous shits upstairs. All those pompous tirades about good and evil were merely Gabriel’s words. Something Aziraphale regurgitated out of habit, not personal sentiments. His angel, the real Aziraphale, was far more intriguing. Able to be both sinner and saint, loving and kind. Yet frustrating and stubborn. Which is ever so alluring. ‘My own forbidden fruit.’

“This was quite a lovely market, but I have a feeling you have more plans for me.” he finally says, knowing where this game could lead.

‘Got you.’ “Quite. What time do you have?” Aziraphale asked confidently.

Crowley checks his watch, “Nearly nine-thirty.”

‘Right on schedule.’ “Perfect. We should return to the car.” Crowley takes Aziraphale’s bags offering his elbow. He accepts, and they leave the lovely market. All of the kind people they met receiving a secret blessing for even more successful harvests and amenable customers. 

They found a quiet little cafe away from the buzz of the Cours Saleya. Aziraphale took his prescribed medication as quickly as he could. Which was much longer than the average diner. They paid and were off to their next destination.

10:00 am  
Nice

They arrived at Parc Phoenix, pay admission, and entered the expansive garden and menagerie. This Aziraphale decided quickly was a good decision. His husband seems drawn from one exhibit to the next. All types of local and exotic plants were curated into little areas. Some themed by regional representation, others by the characteristics of the plants. There was a small garden for growing produce, including grapes. Another looked like a quaint replica of an ancient Mediterranean home. 

One particular area made Crowley scoff at the dinosaurs and “ancient” plants. “When do you think they will figure it out?” Sometimes humans are very clever, others the most gullible idiots to ever exist.

“Well,” Aziraphale says, rolling his eyes, brows raising to cut a dubious look. “It’s been two thousand years since Jesus, and they still haven’t figured out how to be kind to one another.”

‘Poor bugger died for them. How do they repay your sacrifice? Wars, death and hatred.’ “You have a point.” Crowley leads them away.

Throughout the park, there are foreign animals from all over the globe. Crowley didn’t care much for the captive beasts. Zoos only seem to remind him of Noah. Something they both would rather forget. The sounds of the dying animals and humans outside of the arc still haunted Crowley. He only managed to rescue a small group of children from the deluge. Children that he cared for until they were able to go off on their own. Despite their adoptive father being a demon, they all led good lives. Lives that would have otherwise ended because God got “tetchy.”

Once they had seen all of the outdoor sections, they finished their tour at the greenhouse. A glass panel cone, housing exotic tropical plants. The air was humid and warmer compared to the world outside. This had Crowley’s undivided attention. It was like being transported to a lush jungle halfway across the world. How humans came up with such things was beyond him. Conquering nature on a small scale. Bending the natural elements of Earth to their design. ‘No wonder Satan envies them.’

“Aren’t humans amazing. A jungle in France.” Aziraphale said absently. Pulling Crowley from his thoughts. “Reminds me of Eden.”

‘Eden.’ That struck a nerve. Crowley did look around then. Eyes seeing what the humans themselves probably couldn’t. “Yes.” it did remind him of Eden. Paradise lost, a home forever gone. Because of the temptation of a serpent. ‘I wonder if this is their way of reclaiming what I took from them?’ 

He knows the humans had free will. But he will never know if they would have eaten of the fruit without his influence. ‘Brood later you idiot.’ He shook the troubling thoughts from his mind and went to Aziraphale.

“C’me here, dove.” ‘You are what matters now.’ Crowley held out his phone, pulling Aziraphale in close. “Smile.”

Aziraphale was getting used to these photographic opportunities as Crowley called them. When Crowley’s thumb slipped to the little circle to take the picture, Aziraphale turned his head and planted a kiss square on his husband’s cheek. The cellular telephone managed to capture the blush that stained his demon’s cheeks a moment later. 

“Cheeky bastard.” Crowley smiled. ‘You are impossible not to love.’

“I love you too.” Aziraphale’s smile widened. ‘Plants check.’

12:00 pm  
Nice

Lunch was more of just indulging Aziraphale’s sweet tooth. They had been meaning to try the local gelateria, but always seemed to be occupied by other things. Today fortune favoured them. Or at least an angel with his heart set on a specific treat. 

Azzurro boasted over fifty flavours throughout the year, depending on the seasons. Aziraphale selected lemon with a cone; it was smooth and dense, but not heavy. The first bite reminded him of lemon curd. The second with a bit of cone was comparable to lemon meringue pie. “Dearest try this. It is delightful.”

‘Paybacks for earlier.’ Crowley tasted, kissing his angel, who had merely offered a cone. Crowley had picked a berry gelato. The tart lemon and sweet berries mingled on their tongues. Aziraphale nearly dropped his cone in surprise. “Mmmm. Delicious.” 

It was Aziraphale’s turn to blush; though there was no photo evidence. His husband looked very proud of himself as they made their way back to the Bentley. 

2:00 pm  
Monaco

For the next stop, Aziraphale did his best to follow the route on the map, but eventually caved and gave Crowley the address. Crowley’s phone did a much better job getting them to the Principality of Monaco. The navigation ended, leaving them in front of Ermanno Palace. Crowley looks around trying to figure out their destination when Aziraphale doesn’t provide further instructions. “So where are you taking me?”

‘God, help me.’ “Here,” Aziraphale says feeling dread settling in the pit of his stomach. 

‘What the fuck is here? The middle of the road?’ “Here? What’s here?” he still searched their surroundings. 

‘Heaven preserve me.’ “I am told that this is the location of the Monaco Grand Prix. You, according to my research, are currently at the starting line.” He tries to smile, but it is feeble at best.

‘Grand Prix? As in race?’ Crowley gave his angel an assessing look. “I don’t see the point.”

‘Please keep us safe and whole. I should not like to explain a discorporation to Gabriel.’ “This circuit is one of the most challenging races on Earth. It is dangerous. So best get everyone out of the way.” Aziraphale swallowed against the lump firmly wedged in his throat. He snaps, around them, people suddenly find the need to enter the nearest building. Cars pull away quickly, their drivers having miraculously decided to locate themselves elsewhere. The city swiftly appears deserted. 

‘As much as you complain about my driving?’ “Aziraphale, dove, are you suggesting I drive a race circuit with no other competitors?” ‘With you in the car?’ He knows he looks like an idiot staring at his angel but doesn’t care. What Aziraphale is suggesting has him stupified. 

‘Please don’t get us killed.’ “Well, the actual race is in May. But there is a record for the fastest lap.” Aziraphale informs trying to ignore the voice inside him that screams to get out of the car. ‘If I am in the car he will be more careful, I hope.’

“Which is?” ‘You not only want me to speed, but also to beat a record? From a race? A professional race.’

‘You have done it now. No going back.’ “According to the kind boy that delivers the flowers, one minute fourteen seconds, two hundred sixty milliseconds.” ‘Little over a minute. You can do it. This is for Crowley. He does so much for you. You can do this for him.’

“Right.” He sees the panic on his angel’s face. ‘You don’t have to do this. We don’t have to do this.’

Aziraphale pulls out a stopwatch. ‘We are doing this.’ “I have made sure this will start and stop precisely. So we might see if you beat the current record.”

‘I know you don’t want to do this.’ “The Bentley isn’t a race car Aziraphale.” ‘Take the out.’

‘When has that ever stopped you before?’ “Surely the old girl can handle it.” The Bentley’s engine revs a determined growl. Queen’s I Love My Car suddenly erupts over the radio. ‘I am doing this.’ “Your route is clear, my love. Do make the most of it.” Aziraphale braces himself. Hands pressed to the ceiling and dashboard. ‘God if you can hear me, watch over us.’

Crowley looks at his angel in utter disbelief. “You are serious?”

‘Just do it.’ “Yes. Quite serious. Now please, dearest, before I come to my senses.” He adjusts in the seat, preparing for what is sure to leave him a crying mess. 

Crowley looks at the road before them. He only needs to desire to know, and the course is clear in his mind. It is treacherous. Sharp turns, narrow streets, and a tunnel. He grips the steering wheel hard. ‘This is mad.’ He looks over at his angel who is fighting his anxiety. ‘You are mad.’ He looks back at the road chewing on nothing. ‘Mad and amazing. This may be the best idea you have had all day.’

Crowley revs the engine. The Bentley has never let him down. ‘Alright, old girl. What do you say? Show these humans what you’ve got?’ The Bentley responds to his thought with a loud growl. ‘Here goes nothing.’ 

Crowley floors the peddle. The Bentley lurches forward, tires squealing into motion. Aziraphale’s breath catches but makes no sound. 

They race down the harbour road, quickly coming to the first bend. The Bentley takes it with no problem, Crowley’s corporeal heart quickens. The road veers left, then a short distance later right. Another right and they are suddenly at a sharp hairpin. The rear of the Bentley whips around, tires squealing. “WOOO-HOOHOO!” Crowley calls in excitement. Another sharp right and they enter a tunnel. He is aware that Aziraphale has not taken a single breath since the start. 

When they exit the tunnel Aziraphale knows they are at the midway point. ‘So far, so good. This is fine. Everything is fine. Crowley won’t let us get discorporated. This is fine.’ They are once again speeding along the harbour. A quick left, then following the curve, accelerating even more.

“HAHAHA! AZIRAPHALE THIS IS AMAZING!” he shouts over the music.

“Glad you are enjoying yourself, dearest,” he says, voice shaking in terror. “Please mind the road.”

“HAHAHA!” ‘I love that you are here. Doing this with me. Trusting me.’

They enter a narrow strip with planters on either side. Crowley wills the Bentley to stay away from the concrete barriers. ‘I’m a demon. A little cheating is to be expected.’ In reality, with no power steering, the Bentley is wholly reliant on its master’s will to be as agile as it is. 

Two hard rights and they are nearing the last leg of the course. The Ermanno Palace was coming into view. Crowley sees the checkered finish line. Once past, he slams on the breaks. The demon’s will is keeping them in their seats. Aziraphale finally shrieks but is drowned out by the tires coming to a sudden stop. 

They are both panting. The Bentley’s engine lowly rumbling. Crowley slowly turns to look at his angel who looks both horrified and relieved. “THAT WAS AMAZING!” ‘Thank you.’

‘We are alive. Oh, thank Her.’ “As much as I love you, dearest, I am never doing that again.” his hands still bracing against the Bentley.

Crowley burst into a fit of laughter. His fussy angel trusted him enough to ride in the car while he drove like a literal bat out of hell. ‘I will have to make this up to you.’ “Whot’s my time?”

‘Time?’ Aziraphale searches for what on earth his husband could be talking about. He feels the little object in his sore hand. “Oh, yes.” He checks the little contraption. “One minute six seconds.”

“YES!” The Bentley plays Queen’s We Are the Champions. “That’s right!” He is grinning from ear to ear. If they had adrenaline, he would be floating on a high. “Dove, how did you ever come up with this?”

“I know you enjoy driving, especially when you can break the speed limit. So, what better place than one of the most famous tracks near to our current location.” Aziraphale says, snapping to allow the usual flow of the city to recommence. 

“Thank you.” Crowley leans over and kisses his stunned angel’s lips. “This day just keeps getting better.”

‘I love you, but this is NEVER happening again.’ “Yes, well. The next bit isn’t as exhilarating, but I think you will enjoy it as well.” Aziraphale relaxes in the seat.

2:05 pm  
Monaco

At the Collection de Voitures Anciennes Aziraphale was thankful he thought to include this place. He is in need of a walk after their harrowing drive. Once through the door, his husband stops mid saunter. His mouth agape looking at the expanse of vintage cars before them. ‘Ha!’ “This whole collection belongs to the Albert II Prince of Monaco.” Aziraphale informs, rather smugly.

“Lucky bastard.” is all he can say. “I feel like I am cheating on the Bentley.” he begins to walk. More of a man lost in a dream than his usual swagger. 

“I am sure she won’t mind.” Aziraphale offers following behind his gobsmacked demon. “Prince Rainier III had a great affinity for automobiles. He started this collection in 1950” Aziraphale can’t help but giggle. 

‘You don’t know how temperamental she can be.’ He figures he will just have to deal with the consequences later. 

They slowly work their way through the collection. Crowley was taking a picture here, providing a bit of automotive history there. Aziraphale listens, though he has no idea what his husband is talking about, but listens. This is important to Crowley. And that he is sharing it with Aziraphale makes it important to him. 

They come around a turn, and Crowley stops. “Aziraphale…” Crowley is stock-still, staring at a silver car. “Aziraphale, love of my life, divine creature that owns me completely. Is that…” he is pointing mouth trying to form words. 

Aziraphale looks at the car that has stunned his demon so. “Is that what?”

“Aziraphale is that the 1964 Aston Martin DB5? The car James Bond drove in Goldfinger?” ‘James fucking Bond. Sean Connery. 1964. James Bond.’ 

‘This is important. An old human friend?’ “I have never met Mr. Bond. Where exactly is Goldfinger?” he asks. ‘Crowley has never mentioned James before.’

‘What the actual Hell, angel? How do you not know about Bond?’ “I don’t know whether to kiss you or be offended.” he is still unable to move. 

“I’d prefer a kiss.’ “Uh...I assume that is an important car.” Aziraphale says studying his husband’s mystified stare. 

‘Important?’ “If I were a single demon, I would steal that without a second thought.” He can’t pull his eyes away from that piece of movie history. 

‘I will smite you, so help me.’ Aziraphale comes between his demon and the car. “Crowley I did not bring you here to pilfer cars.”

“Which is why I am not driving that beauty away right now.” He walks around Aziraphale to the car, committing every line, every bullet hole, every machine gun barrel to memory. He turns around to Aziraphale and scoops his angel in his arms. “If we weren’t already married I would propose to you right here.” “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!’’

Aziraphale giggles at his husband’s enthusiasm. “I take it this is going well?”

“You sweet.” he kisses his angel. “BEAUTIFUL!” He kisses again. “Angel.” He lowers Aziraphale until just the tip of angelic toes touches the floor. He kisses his angel, causing just enough of a scene to earn them a few looks. “I can't believe you brought me here.”

‘I would have brought you sooner if I knew this was the reaction I would get.’ “I told you I wanted to surprise you. I didn’t know it would go so well.”

“I love you.” he turns his head to look back to the car, then back to Aziraphale. “I am very surprised.”

Aziraphale smiles brightly. Crowley sets him down. He is eventually able to drag his husband away from the apparent famous car. Before the temptation to steal, it becomes too much. The rest of the collection is taken in; Old Fords, tractors, Jaguars, Maseratis, Lamborghinis, cars used in the actual Grand Prix, and a considerable collection of Rolls Royces. One particular Rolls from 1903 even catches Aziraphale’s fancy. He can’t help but think it looks like a motorised carriage, which the collection has as well. 

Old models and new, the showroom is astounding. Before they leave they return to the Astin Martin for Crowley to take hundreds of pictures. Aziraphale feels proud that he could effect his husband so. Crowley even flags down a passer-by, to take a picture of them with the car before leaving. 

They return to the Bentley, who is blaring Queen’s Jealousy loud enough to attract a crowd. Crowley groans, he knew this was going to be a problem. “Oi! Haven’t you lot seen a sentient demonic car throw a temper tantrum before? Va te faire foutre!” Crowley yanks the door open and slides in the car, trying to turn the dial. The volume increases. Crowley groans, trying to turn the Bentley on. It refuses to start. “I will not stand for this. Sssstart you damned macccchine.” he hisses.

The song suddenly changes to Queen’s Bicycle Race. “I will not have sssasss from a car.” Crowley is growing impatient. 

Queen’s Death on Two Legs breaks in, reverberating the windows. 

Aziraphale puts his hand on the dashboard and gives a gentle pat.  
“I am so sorry dear.” The Bentley goes silent. “It is entirely my fault. It was inconsiderate of your feelings. I assure you he would have never gone in there if it weren’t for me. I promise to never do it again.” he tries to sooth the very upset vehicle.

The Bentley roars to life; Queen’s Hijack My Heart playing on the radio. 

Aziraphale smiles over at his husband. ‘Love of cars check.’

7:30 pm  
Monte Carlo

The two sit at a table at Le Louis XV in The Hotel Paris Monte Carlo. The interior is magnificent. Gold and white in every detail. Aziraphale as usual, thrills over the food. Crowley drinks enough for two; he can’t help but smile through the whole service. His angel knew him so well, took into account his hobbies and found things just for him to enjoy. Even if one was above and beyond his comfort level, he took his angel’s hand. “Well, I have to say, angel, today was fun.” ‘I love you so much.’

‘Hm, it’s not over yet.’ Aziraphale smirks as he sips his champagne. “Oh, I am delighted to hear it. But we have one last stop.”

‘I know I don’t deserve you now.’ “I assume I still am not allowed to know where,” he says, taking a long sip of champagne.

‘You never give up.’ “Afraid not, dearest. This one, well...This one I have had to perform several miracles to make possible.” ‘If Gabriel is paying any attention, he will be very cross.’

“Ha! I bet Gabriel is ready to shit.” His angel is growing bold in their newfound freedom. 

Dessert is delivered in an elevated gold bowl. The Rum Baba is served with a generous pour of rum syrup, and a portion of lightly whipped cream. Aziraphale moans in appreciation as the rum warms and the cream cools his palet. His husband focused on his pleasure. ‘Later dearest. I haven’t been wearing this lingerie all day for my benefit.’ “Perhaps in May, we can return. Sneak you into the actual Grand Prix. And I can have more of this cake.”

‘Anything. Everything you want.’ “Sounds like a plan, dove.”

They leave the beautiful restaurant. This time the Bentley is more cooperative. Aziraphale provides the address to their last stop. Night has settled over the south of France, the lights of Monte Carlo bidding them farewell. Queen’s Made in Heaven serenading their journey back to Nice.

9:00 pm  
Nice

Observatoire de la Cote d’Azur appears at the top of the hill. The grounds are deserted. A soft breeze and the crunch of their footsteps on the gravel path are the only sounds to be heard. Aziraphale leads them to the main building. A rather Egyptian looking depiction of the Greek God Apollo over the entrance is the only face to greet them. Aziraphale opens the door with a snap and steps inside, “After you, dearest.” ‘Mischief check.’

In the centre of the room is a massive telescope. It is pointing up at the open dome above. Crowley looks around the otherwise empty room. “Aziraphale what the Hell are we doing here?” he whispers as if they would get caught at any moment. 

“I know you are fond of the stars. And…” he steps closer. “I know we never did go to Alpha Centauri. So I figured I would bring Alpha Centauri to you.” He gestures to the telescope. “I don’t know how to use this technology, so I encouraged a young astronomer to...well...set everything up, then forget he did so.”

‘A marvel. That is what you are.’ “Aziraphale, you never cease to astonish me.”

“Just there, dearest. If you look through the lens, you should be able to see the binary star system.” he points to the platform at the end of the telescope.

Crowley walks up to the steps leading to the elevated observation platform. He tentatively climbs. His angel watches intently as he bends and peers through the telescope. There, in all its glory is the cool radiance of the cluster, surrounded by the glittering of distant stars. Crowley feels a knot form in his throat. ‘That’s not who you are anymore.’ The thought comes unbidden but imperious to his mind. He pulls away and walks back down the steps. 

He comes to stand before Aziraphale. His eyes downcast. Crowley pulls Aziraphale into a tight hug, “Thank you, dove.” ‘That isn’t who you are anymore.’ A voice shouts inside him. He is angry at himself, at Her, at the lot of them. His angel was trying to give him a beautiful, thoughtful gift. And all he could think about was what he lost. 

Even behind those dark lenses, Aziraphale can see his demon’s sullen snake eyes. “Crowley?” he tries to take off his husband’s glasses, but Crowley turns away. “Dearest is something wrong?” ‘Please tell me.’

‘This isn’t fair to you.’ “No, dove. Just tired. Let’s get back.” Crowley releases Aziraphale and heads for the door. 

Aziraphale is right behind him. He is confused as to what might have caused this sudden shift in mood. Once past the entrance, he snaps. Returning the observatory to as it should be.

Aziraphale is panicking. He has done something dreadful by bringing them here. ‘Is it the Apocalypse? The fight? My behaviour that last day?’ “Crowley my love if there is something I did that…” 

‘Fretting.’ “No Aziraphale. It is something I did. Don’t worry about it. Thank you for today. I can tell you put a lot of thought into everything.” ‘Please stop blaming yourself.’

They ride back to the villa without another word spoken. Crowley too lost in thought. Aziraphale too afraid to make the situation worse. Queen’s These Are the Days of Our Lives plays over the Bentley’s speakers. 

‘I messed up.’ Aziraphale chokes back tears. 

They don’t make love that night. Aziraphale watches Crowley from their nest. His husband is staring up at the night sky from the terrace. ‘Why are you so upset? Why won’t you talk to me?’ He resigns to lay awake all night just in case. Crowley doesn’t come to bed, he stands alone, watching the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	13. Lead You Not Into Damnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconciliation and more problems. Idiots being idiots. (you know God is sitting back and laughing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst warning...though really they are just idiots.

CHAPTER 13  
Friday 13 September 2019  
7:24 am  
Nice

Crowley studied that silent sky all through the night. He could remember Her voice as clear as the sound of the waves breaking below him. ‘Ineffable. That’s what Aziraphale says you are. Did he know you as I did? Did he ever see your face? Create the stars at your side? Why? I never wanted this. I questioned you, but never stopped loving you. I just didn’t understand. Then you cast me out. I am thankful for Aziraphale. For a chance to have this. I am thankful that we have your blessing. I am thankful that the world didn’t end. But I still don’t understand you. Please show me how.’

Crowley heard rustling coming from their nest. When he turned, his angel was walking from the bedroom, satin floral robe being pulled on. ‘I am hurting you.’ Last night he wanted nothing more than to hold his angel and forget the past. But this time there was no running from the memories that clawed at his mind. He wanted to sleep, but the Fall would be there in his dreams. He couldn’t allow himself to bring those horrors into their nest. ‘Not there. It isn’t right.’

Their nest was a place of shared love and safety. It was no place for the bitterness he felt consuming him. He would have taken another bed in the villa, but he knew that would only distress his angel more. So he did the only thing he could think of. Talking to that absent Mother far away on her lofty throne. His failures, disappointments, fears, regrets, and anger all directed at Her.

It was easier to brood when you are alone. To forget the flow of time and curse fortune. It is another thing entirely when the love of your life is being damaged by your selfishness. He knew Aziraphale was blaming the day that his angel planned so diligently, on his gloomy disposition. It only made the knife twist deeper into his essence. That bottomless pit of despair pulling him down. Twenty million hands grasping, calling him to the perpetual darkness. His one beacon of hope was that spark that just glided from the bedroom. ‘I am being such an idiot. I have you. That is all that matters. Fuck everything else.’

Aziraphale descends the marble stairs. His heart hollowed by unanswered questions. “What to do? I have to fix this.” Their day had been lovely. Crowley admitted so himself. His brows drawn up, tightly furrowed, hands wringing, eyes prickling with tears. 'It was that last stop. Something happened. Something so dreadful Crowley couldn’t even share our nest. But what?’

He looked around their villa. The light was different this morning. The warmth somehow diminished since yesterday. ‘Best, keep busy. He will talk to you in time.’ He had to reassure himself. Crowley didn’t appear to be angry with him. ‘Sad, morose, but not angry. Perhaps he is, and trying not to show it.’ that hurt more than if Crowley was openly angry with him. ‘Books.’

He hadn’t brought the manuscript with them. It was one thing Crowley insisted upon, but he did bring a small selection of books. Books could always soothe his nerves. ‘I’ll make tea and read. And when he is ready to talk, I will be there.’

Aziraphale put on the kettle. The coffee pot staring at him. Crowley hadn’t moved all night. ‘Will he even want coffee?’ Aziraphale decided to err on the side of hope and made a pot as well. ‘Keep busy.’ Aziraphale was about to return to their bedroom for his books when he heard footsteps. His heart lept to his throat. When he turned, Crowley was there, still looking as though a world’s worth of weight was perched on his shoulders. “Crowley?” he said so faintly he wasn’t sure his husband heard him.

The soft, desperate way Aziraphale breathed his name ran him through. ‘You shouldn’t sound like that. Never because of me.’ He walked to his angel. Heart heavy with how those cool sapphire eyes pleaded him for some sign of affection. ‘I didn’t mean to worry you.’ He reached for Aziraphale, hand coming up short then returning to his side. “Aziraphale I am sorry. About last night. I am so sorry. ”

Aziraphale held still as if Crowley would spook at any abrupt movement. “Crowley dearest, I think I should be the one apologizing. If I knew that…”

‘No, I will not have you blaming yourself.’ Crowley cut his angel off with a firm possessing kiss. His poor angel immediately began to cry, holding him in desperation. Aziraphale keened frantic with impassioned need. Hands clutching his face forbidding him from pulling away.

Crowley plucked Aziraphale up and sat his angel on the counter. Their kiss was feral and demanding. Robe sliding free as Crowley claimed that sensual neck. Tears swept away by soothing fingers cradling Aziraphale’s cheek. His angel moaning, hands pulling at his hair. Crowley tears the silk free, casting it to the floor. Aziraphale was wearing the first pink floral bra, garter, and panty set from their shopping trip.

Any other time Crowley would relish the way the garment accentuated his angel. Right now, it was a barrier he couldn’t abide. He hurriedly unfastened the bra and discarded it. There was no hesitation or finesse when Crowley took his angel’s breast with his mouth.

Aziraphale let out a pained whine shoving him away. “Angel? I am sorry. Are you ok?” ‘Shit. Too fast, you idiot.’

‘I am not rejecting you.’ Aziraphale covered his breasts. They were miserably aching. “S-sorry. I just...well.” he tried to catch his breath and form a thought which he was currently struggling with. “T-they are rather... tender this morning.” He gestured a finger between his breasts.

“Tender?” ‘Pain? You are in pain? Hunger, sleep, now pain. I need to call Anathema.’

He saw Crowley’s mind working. “My breasts hurt like the dickens. Felt like there was a hot poker shooting through them.”

“Your breasts hurt.” he acknowledged, mind working the riddle of symptoms.

“Yes! Stop repeating me! And I forbid you to tell Anathema.” ‘She may be there to help, but I don’t need her knowing about my intimate parts.’

Crowley nodding eyes downcast. “Fine. Personal. I get it. Anything I can do?” ‘There has to be something we are missing.’

Aziraphale looked at him, remembering his sadness and uncertainty from before. “You could please tell me what happened last night. What I did?” He couldn’t meet Crowley’s eyes if he were to look up. His hands worrying between them. ‘Please tell me.’

Crowley looks up and sees that pitiable expression. His angel looks near to tears again. ‘Forgive me for making you question yourself.’ “Aziraphale. Dove…” he massaged delicate circles into those soft thighs. “You did nothing wrong. I-I just...I am a demon. Not everything is sunshine and roses. I...I am dealing with it.” He brought his angel into a loose hug, careful of the sensitive tissue. “I am sorry for acting like an ass.” ‘Please forgive me. Please let me take care of you.’

Aziraphale carded his fingers through his demon’s hair. “Crowley, you were upset. That doesn’t make you a-an ass.” ass was whispered as if disapproving ears might hear.

‘I am an ass. The biggest ass that ever assed.’ “You put a great amount of effort into making yesterday perfect. And it was. I need you to understand that.” He kissed his angel firmly, holding the press. “Just...m’de me think is all. About before… Before the Fall.”

‘Your Fall. The stars made you think of the Fall? Who were you before?’ “Crowley, you don’t have to do this alone. Talk to me. We will face whatever it is together.” ‘Through everything.’

‘Sweet fussy angel.’ “I know, dove. I will. Maybe after we figure out what is going on with you. One crisis at a time.”

“Promise?” Aziraphale held Crowley’s eyes with an imploring stare.

‘God, what wicked design did you have when you made those eyes? They ruin me.’ “Yes, alright. I promise. Once we get you sorted out, we'll...sssssort me out.”

“Thank you, Crowley." Aziraphale smiled sweetly. ‘Soft demon.’

“Now,” he said, deepening his voice to the low growl that he knew affected his angel. “I know you didn’t sleep last night. And you haven’t eaten this morning. I…” He brushed a curl out of his angel’s face. “am going into town for a bit. I am going to pick us up some food and a few other things.” He kisses those lips. “And I want you back in bed. You need to rest. D’nt want you fainting on me again. Alright, dove?”

Aziraphale’s heart quicken. Crowley’s commanding deep voice soothing over him like warm velvet. “Will you join me after?” ‘I want you now. I want to be in your arms in our nest.’

Crowley felt the wave of desire thrumming into him. ‘Patience.’ “Yes, my little dove. Just as soon as I get back.” He kisses his angel. A slow possessing press, tongues meeting in a methodical caress. Aziraphale’s thighs tightened around him. ‘I want you too.’ Crowley stepped back, knowing he needed to find the strength to pull away. He had a mission, and he could not allow himself to be distracted. Even if the distraction was nearly naked, sitting on their counter; looking at him with pure unrestrained desire.

He assisted his angel down. He brushed his fingers over full bottom lip. “It is only for a couple of hours. Be good for me, dove. Rest.” Aziraphale nodded and with one last kiss he left.

10:30 am

Two hours later and Crowley stumbles through the door, arms full with his purchases. He pushes the door closed, gingerly with his foot. Trying not to wake Aziraphale should his angel be asleep.

He places everything on the dining table and sets about unpacking. There are soaps, creams, and a small bottle of oil from a shop near the market they visited the previous day. A box of pralines and ganache from Patisserie Lac, with a few confections just for good measure. And a bouquet of purple hyacinth, daffodils, white tulips, eustoma, purple stock, yellow roses, and ivy.

Crowley put the flowers in a vase and heads upstairs with his gifts. Aziraphale was laying in their nest, sleeping soundly. He considers throwing away all of his plans and enjoying this moment with his angel. ‘No you are on a mission.’ He quietly snuck into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, placing the items on the vanity and went to the tub. Crowley turned the water to its full heat, with a little miracle, the sound of the water didn’t leave the bathroom.

He went back and took the foaming bath and aromatic salts, adding them to the water. The room immediately began to bloom with the scent of lavender and rose. This too, was bid to not escape the room. A small table was miracled to the head of the tub, remaining soaps and creams were placed there. Along with a soft natural sponge. A bottle of cabernet sauvignon was opened and allowed to breathe before two glasses were poured. Once satisfied with his work, he crept back into the bedroom.

Crowley slithered into the nest next to his sleeping angel, a light kiss pressed to cheek. Aziraphale hummed a happy sound, shifting to look up at Crowley. “There you are. Good nap?”

“I like dreaming.” he stretched languidly. “Though when I wake up, I never remember what the dreams were about. I do remember being very happy.” his smile was soft but still bright.

“As you should always be.” another kiss, this time to waiting lips. “Come on, dove. Time for a bath.”

He scoops Aziraphale up and carries him into the bathroom. Just inside, he sets his angel down, removing the satin robe that had found its way back on. Aziraphale now very naked, held close, stared around the room.

The bouquet on the vanity was the first thing he marked. Yellow, white, and purple blooms declaring Crowley’s pleas for forgiveness. ‘That you feel you needed to do all of this.’ Aziraphale turned, tender eyes meeting gold. Blue eyes fell to his demon’s mouth. He kissed his husband a delicate promise, “Always. Forever.” He turned back and saw the tub, sweet scents washing over him. It was all so lovely. Crowley took his hand and guided him over.

“Spoke to a lady at the market. She said this might help your particular problem.”

“A bath?” Aziraphale considered the steam rising from the tub.

Crowley shrugged.“Said it helped her whenever she had this dilemma. Figured it was worth a try.”

Crowley unceremoniously miracles his clothing away. ‘You are ever so splendid.’ Aziraphale can’t help but think how wonderful it is they are this comfortable with each other. Wishing they could have always been this free to be as they are now.

Crowley steps into the water, guiding Aziraphale to follow. He sits, pulling his angel down to sit in front of him, warm back pressed to his front. As soon as Aziraphale’s breasts break the bubbly surface, he winces at the heat. ‘This is horrid. Why in Her name is this body betraying me?’

Crowley didn’t miss the sudden tension in his angel. “Rest your head against me, dove.” he purrs low in his angel’s ear. Aziraphale complies. “Thank you, dove. Now…” He kisses the shell of his angel’s ear. “I am going to give you a bath.” he kisses those silky curls. “And you are going…” He shifts pale strands and kisses the juncture between neck and shoulder. “to let me make up for being an ass.”

Aziraphale made to turn, but Crowley held him firmly in place. He huffed but faced forward all the same, “I already told you…”

“I know, dove. Just work with me here, yeah?” Crowley took the sponge and bar of lavender soap in hand. He dipped the sponge into the water and pulled it over his angel’s shoulders. The warm water melted away the tension held there, rivulets flowing down around Aziraphale’s breasts. Crowley repeated on the other side. Then once more to wet flaxen ringlets hanging past his angel’s shoulders.

‘Oh, this is divine.’ Aziraphale reclined into his husband’s soothing presence.“Only if you stop referring to yourself as an... Equus asinus.” he would not curse twice in one day.

“You know there is another type of ass, dove.” He purrs low, lips brushing against Aziraphale’s ear.

Aziraphale stiffens, then settles back determined to not let his husband win this new game. Whatever the goal might be. “Which you aren’t either. Really, Crowley. You are always so unkind to yourself. I don’t approve.” ‘I will breakthrough that stubborn head of yours one day.’

He chuckles at his fussy angel. “I know. Don’t worry. Just trying to get you to curse is all.”

“Cheeky.” ‘Please don’t change.’

“Fussy.” ‘I love that about you.’

“I love you.” ‘all that you are.’

‘I know.’ “And I love you.”

Crowley works the sponge and soap into a thick lather. Humming Come Rain or Come Shine lowly. His voice lending a sensual richness to the melody. Aziraphale felt transported to that moment they danced on the patio. Crowley begins washing his angel gently, small slow circles over shoulders, down arms, and across Aziraphale’s pinkening chest. Mindful to bypass sensitive skin.

“Lean forward for me, dove.” Aziraphale does, and Crowley washes his angel’s back. Moving damp tresses out of the way to reach every available inch. Aziraphale has gone nearly limp, breathing quiet and steady.

“Lean back, dove,” he says, encircling his arm around Aziraphale’s soft middle. Drawing his angel tenderly back against him. “Thank you, dove.” The sponge dips below the surface, repeating the soothing little circles down his angel. The soap was surely gone, but that was far from the point.

His descent was slow, intending to sooth, no rush. His angel was resting wet strands against his shoulder. Once again, Aziraphale is almost asleep in his arms. “Now, be good for me so I can take care of your situation.”

“My situation?” ‘Do you have to say it like that? Like I am hiding some salacious secret.’

“The woman who suggested the bath. Nice lady, you’d like her. Sold me the soaps and such near that flower market. I was looking at a couple things that might help. She asked what specifically I needed and well… She gave me this. Said she used it during all three of her pregnancies.”

“What on earth is it?” he considered the little blue bottle.

“Massage oil. S’pposed to help with the pain. Specifically aching breasts.”

“Oh. Thank you, dearest.” Aziraphale didn’t quite know how to feel about reclining naked, in the bath, with his husband, while he massaged his aching breasts. There was a familiar interest starting to grow all the same.

“Don’t thank me yet. She said it will hurt at first. Then it should lessen and stay away for a bit.” He caressed Aziraphale’s shoulders to try and reassure his angel. He didn’t like the thought of causing pain, but this was necessary for overall comfort.

Aziraphale gulped. Crowley’s mouth was excruciating. The thought of being manhandled was causing him a great deal of trepidation. “Very well. What should I do?” He gripped the rim of the tub in preparation.

“Relax.” Crowley took hold of his angel’s wrists. He lowered one beneath the water, the other was brought to his lips. “Breathe and relax. Can you do that for me, dove?” he kissed Aziraphale’s wrist before returning it to join the other.

Aziraphale shook his head, trying to focus on remaining calm. “Yes.”

“And I will have to touch your breasts. She said to start from the...aoli and work your way out.”

Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think she said that.’ “Like the mayonnaise?” his face scrunches at the thought.

“Whot?” ‘Why would there be mayonnaise?’ Crowley’s face too scrunched. ‘I know you like food angel, but I’m not rubbing mayonnaise on your breasts.’

“Aoli. It is basically flavorful mayonnaise.”

‘I am a fucking idiot.’ “No the pinkish flesh around the nipple.”

“Oh. Right. I believe that is referred to as the areola.” Aziraphale informed, trying not to sound pompous.

“Whatever. So, yeah I have to start slow and work in circles out.” ‘he demonstrates in the air.

‘Something about all this sounds very odd. A woman offering advice to a random man buying lotion.’ “Are you sure you aren’t just making this up?” he peers back at Crowley with an accusatory look.

‘That’s rich.’ “Didn’t think I need a justification to touch you. Haven’t since our bonding.” he pretended to muse the allegation.

‘Oh, I didn’t intend it to sound like that.’ “And you don’t now dearest. I…”

Crowley cut his angel off. ‘I am teasing you. You daft twit.’ “If you bloody apologize I won’t show you what’s in those little black boxes on the counter. And you definitely want to see what I have brought you, dove.”

Aziraphale tries to remain relaxed, but can't help worrying about the pain to come. Crowley pours the oil into his hand, rubbing it between his palms warming it. “That smells lovely.”

“That would be violets. She gave me her recipe. Said it’s easy enough to make.” ‘Might have to make a batch if it works.’

Crowley begins working the oil into his angel’s muscles. Massaging Aziraphale’s shoulders, down arms, delicate hands, then back to neck. His angel was pliant to his ministrations. Little relieved groans encouraging Crowley to take his time. “Dove, I need you to tell me if it is too much. She recommended we take this as slow as you need.” Crowley pours more oil in hand, once again warming it. Aziraphale breathes, preparing for what is to come.

Crowley gently cups each breast, allowing the slick oil to coat his angel’s skin. He slowly draws his hands around and up, careful of the most sensitive portion. Crowley brings the pads of his first two fingers just beside each aching bud. In steady slow circles, he presses in. He feels his angel tense, a sharp inhalation confirms the woman’s warning. Aziraphale turns agonized face into the side of Crowley’s neck.

“Is it too much, Dove?” ‘I hate seeing you in pain.’

“I can manage.” is breathed out with some difficulty. ‘Breathe. Relax, This is going to work.’

Crowley spirals from the centre then kneads the breasts gently. Aziraphale whimpers but doesn’t ask him to stop. Crowley returns to repeat the circling motion. This time his angel sighs. The pain begins to lessen. Crowley repeats until Aziraphale is resting comfortably against him. He holds his angel comfortingly and kisses drying ringlets. “Better, dove?” Crowley tenderly caresses waiting to see if more attention is needed.

“Much. Thank you, darling.” Aziraphale smiles sleepily.

Another kiss, “You are welcome, dove. If it happens again, I don’t mind at all doing this.” Crowley snaps and the chocolates and wine are next to them. Crowley offers Aziraphale a glass. Who accepts it and takes a long sip.

Aziraphale feels like custard. The wine warming the last vestiges of his corporation. He could slip into sleep right now if it weren’t for his determination to savour every moment of his husband’s diligent intimate care.

Crowley then opens one of the boxes and offers him a ganache. “Try this, dove.”

Aziraphale takes the proffered morsel in his mouth. It instantly melts on his tongue. He can’t help the moan of appreciation that escapes from him. “Thank you, dearest.” ‘Wonderful, dear husband.’

“Anything, dove.” he kisses his angel’s temple.

“You take such immeasurable care of me.” ‘I will never be able to repay you, will I? It won’t be for the trying, love.’

‘I know you are fussing.’ “And you me, dove.” ‘I like doting on you. I like you letting me care for you. It is something I haven’t been able to do for you or anyone since I Fell. It feels so right being like this. With you. You could give me nothing more than this and I would be happy.’

Crowley opens another box and inside is a selection of pastries. He took the first between his fingers and presented it to Aziraphale. “This one they call Desire.”

Aziraphale opens, allowing Crowley to serve him the decadence. Smooth chocolate cream, balanced by crisp biscuit and hazelnut praline. It is sumptuous at a word. Aziraphale closes his eyes, and a low hum resonates his pleasure. “I can see why.”

When Aziraphale finishes that bite Crowley offers the next, requiring a spoon. “This one is called Temptation.” The contrast with the first is enticing. It was airy light mascarpone mousse, tart fruit compote, and a buttery crisp crumble. This too earns him a delicious moan.

‘Sing for me, angel.’ “This one is called Religious Shock.” He offers the top pastry with a little fleck of gold dusting the dark chocolate.

Aziraphale comes out of his blissful haze to cut his devious husband a litigious look. ‘You find all this very amusing, don’t you?’

Crowley smirks at him. ‘Caught that did you?’ “I didn’t name the things, dove.”

‘Though you did pick them, dearest. If that is the game, we are playing.’ He meets his husband’s gilded serpent eyes as he accepts the chocolate-covered confection. Drawing Crowley’s fingers in, to the second knuckle. The look of shock is just as appetising as the luscious pastry. He slowly withdraws sucking as he pulls free. ‘Checkmate.’

They remain as they are for a long time. Much longer than should have been possible without the water growing cold. It knew better. Once the wine bottle sits empty, and the chocolates consumed, they retired to their nest. Aziraphale slips once again into the world of dreams. Somehow his demon finding him there.

The next day they fell back into their regular easy routine. All thoughts of worry eased by each other’s company. Saturday morning was spent at the beach. That evening they shared another excellent dinner. Then, as the world around them slept, they danced under the stars, near their little lemon tree.

Sunday 15 September 2019  
5:40 am

Crowley is up, scurrying about the kitchen in the early morning. When Aziraphale discovers him, he is dressed oddly in dark worn jeans, his new black linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and his boots. Crowley is packing a small tote with gardening sheers and gloves. Aziraphale is puzzled at the reason for such activity before the sun has woken.

“Angel!” he nearly shouts in enthusiasm when he sees his sleepy angel watching him.

“Good morning to you too, dearest. What on Earth has you so inspired this early?” ‘It is good to see you so excited.’

Crowley darts over to his angel and sweeps him into a tight hug. “You, my muse. Always you.” This earns him a playful tsk and roll of perfect blue eyes. “You and I are going to a vineyard today. I found out, from that soap woman, that we came just in time for the grape harvest. This human opens their family's vineyard to people to pick grapes. Which will be turned into wine. After, they serve a meal, including wine.” he informs with a kiss to the tip of his angel's nose.

‘Oh, how very pastoral.’ “That sounds delightful. So you and I are going to pick grapes?”

“Yep, wine, food and…” he pinched his angel’s bottom. “Good company.”

Aziraphale squeaked and glared at his husband. “What time does the harvest begin?”

“7:30. So, get dressed. Put on something comfortable. I’d wear boots or something more substantial than sandals.” he takes the kettle and turns on the stove.

Aziraphale goes to dress while Crowley makes tea, coffee for himself. Aziraphale selects his short tartan romper, which Crowley had definitely argued against. Along with a pair of sensible brown boots and his beloved cardigan. He looked himself over before heading downstairs.

Crowley was already waiting on the patio with a simple breakfast of scones, jam, and tea. Aziraphale found his usual place and sat, waiting for the inevitable mocking he would receive for his tartan outfit. He takes a sip of tea and looks over at his husband.

Crowley is surprised at the choice. Yes, the bathing suit definitely reveals more, but that is appropriate for the beach. The bottom of the garment fits flush to ample thighs. The belt around the waist accentuated his angel’s curves. It is almost sinful how attractive Aziraphale is in the outfit. “Yep. You were right about that getup.” he takes a sip of coffee.

“Was I?” Aziraphale looks over himself. The tartan was originally a different colour, but he prefered his own tartan. So he changed it with a bit of angelic magic.

“Dove, you are so beautiful you succeed at the impossible. You make a tartan romper vastly more alluring than it has any right to be.” he tries to make himself sound as though he is teasing, but he means it with all sincerity.

‘Tartan?’ “Oh, I don’t know. Every time I am in Edinburgh, I can’t help but think how ravishing you would be in a kilt, darling.” he bats teasing his husband back.

‘Hell will freeze over, Beelzebub will make out with Gabriel, and that potato will learn to be charming first.’ “You will see me in a kilt the day you wear an entire leather outfit.” He grouses. ‘Which is just as likely as the rest of it.’

Aziraphale considered the idea. A bit of leather and his demon would wear one of those fetching Scottish garments. 'That could be arranged.'

7:30 am

They arrive at Domaine Saint Joseph on time. A nice blonde young man provides them, and a group of humans, a brief tour of the grounds, an explanation of proper grape harvesting, and what time they needed to be back at the main building for lunch. Crowley listened distractedly. He was more focused on the vast rows, to his assessment, lazy vines. Aziraphale tried to keep up, but his French was still not up to par. When the lecture concluded they were free to roam. As long as they abide by the protocols, that neither fully heard.

Crowley took to harvesting like he had done it for 6,000 years. Aziraphale was lost on the natural beauty of everything around them. They both loved nature in different but equal ways. When they had gathered several baskets of grapes, they decided on a break.

Aziraphale takes off his gloves and places them, with sheers, back into their tote. “Have you ever wanted a garden, dearest?”

Crowley pats off his pants, thinking about the question posed. “I have my plants,” he says with a shrug.

“I know, but a real garden. A bit of land you can cultivate. Perhaps grow grapes. Or flowers.” Aziraphale had been thinking of such a thing all day. ‘Could Crowley find contentment in tending the earth? Raising a whole host of plants to maturity. See the fruits of his labours every day. I could read in the garden.’ It was a pleasant thought.

He considered the idea in earnest. Flowers, herbs, fruits and vegetables, the thought was intriguing. “Sure but the bookshop doesn’t really have a lawn.”

“What if we did? What if we found a place so you could have a garden?” Aziraphale had never considered leaving the bookshop, no more than necessary. Now it was all he could think about. A home, away from the city. Just the two of them, and a garden.

Crowley studied his angel. 'This is odd.' The bookshop was their home. Their little refuge against the world for more than two hundred years. “Move out of London? You can’t leave your bookshop.”

“I could. I don’t really sell my books. Just something to occupy my time, really.” ‘If it is something that you want, I will sell the shop.’

Crowley could see how ardent his angel’s eyes regarded him. “You’re serious?” ‘A home for the two of us. Away from pestering humans. I could garden, and you could read your books. We could.’

“If it were something you wanted.” ‘I want this. But I will not force it on you.’

“And what about you?” ‘You love your bookshop. I don’t want you giving that up for me.’

“I want to see you happy. I want to watch you in our garden if that is what you want. At least give it some thought, dearest.” he took his husband’s hand and gave a little squeeze.

‘Aziraphale is right, this needs real consideration.’ Crowley wanted it, but he couldn’t just make decisions on a whim. They were bonded now. If his angel gave up the shop, it would have to be Aziraphale's decision. He went back to the harvest, mind working at the possibilities. ‘A home.’

By the time they were called into lunch Crowley’s forearms were stained with splotches of purple. Aziraphale hadn’t noticed yet, but the cardigan was also stained. Crowley miracles them clean and they head inside. The food was simple and rustic. Grilled meat, several offerings of vegetables, rice, and of course wine.

Crowley selected a red for both of them. The name Noir Majic was not lost on Aziraphale. He brought two plates, but really had no intention of consuming anything but wine. ‘More for Aziraphale.’

Aziraphale sipped the velvety red before turning to his food. He was just about to take a bite of the lamb when a sudden odd sensation gripped his stomach. His mouth began to water, his brow dripping with sweat. Crowley noticed it instantly.

He pulled Aziraphale out and around the building. His angel looked ashen. “Angel, are you alright?” panic already rising in his chest.

“Crowley, there is something terribly wrong.” before he could say more he was retching. It was agonizing. His demon only missing being covered by the mess with a quick jerk out of the way. His husband soothed him as his body locked, expelling the contents of his stomach. He had never in all his existence done such a thing. His eyes were blurry with tears. ‘Why is this happening?’

When the dry heaving stopped, and he was able to stand once again, he looked at Crowley, “Dearest, I feel faint. My head is splitting.”

Crowley took his angel in his arms and pushed stray curls from pale features. A man who saw the ghastly display hurried to bring a chair to the couple. Crowley was too anxious to comment. Aziraphale did the thanking for them.

They had been so careful, food as needed, plenty of rest, nothing to tax Aziraphale’s new worrying condition. ‘Sick? Pain, hunger, sleep? Was this the Horsemen reborn taking their revenge? Was this perhaps some wasting plague that angels were susceptible to? I won’t let you have my angel. Aziraphale is mine! I will fix this. I will figure this out, and I will fix you.’ Crowley couldn't make his mind cooperate. The blinding fear that he might lose his beloved nearly crippling him. ‘Anathema.’ “I am taking you home.”

Aziraphale leaned against Crowley for support. His stomach still threatening to expel what wasn’t there. “Yes, I think that is for the best. I would very much like to be in our nest.”

“No, home to London. We need to see the witch.” The Bentley wasn’t far. He could carry Aziraphale if need be. ‘Nothing will take you from me.’

Aziraphale tried to put on a brave face. ‘I know what you are doing to yourself.’ “Crowley it isn’t so serious as all that.”

“You don’t know that.” something in him broke. He couldn’t stop the tears. “You don’t know that. I can’t lose you, Aziraphale.” his voice was trembling with fear. Fear that grew every moment like a suffocating weed around his throat. He needed answers.

Aziraphale willed himself to stand. He took his husband’s hand in his and squeezed tightly. “You aren’t going to lose me.”

“You don’t know that.” He wanted to yell at the cosmos. He wanted to rip her from Heaven and demand she heal his angel. He cursed himself for the bond that clearly started all of this. He wanted to take whatever punishment she had given to Aziraphale upon himself.

Aziraphale forced a smile. “Dearest, I am not leaving you.” ‘We will figure this out.’

“We are going home,” Crowley says sternly. His fear turning into hellfire in his heart. ‘I can’t be weak now. You need me to help you. I will fix this.’

Crowley assisted his angel to the Bentley. It took everything he had to remain composed on their ride to the airport. Knuckles white on the steering wheel. His other hand holding Aziraphale's for reassurance. His mind a tempest of emotions. ‘You can’t take this from me too. Don’t take my angel.’ Queen’s The Show Must Go On playing low as they raced for the airport.

“We are leaving now. Get this fucking plane in the air before I drag all your worthlesssss soulsssss to Hell.” Crowley hissed at the young stewardess. She saw the state of the woman in his arms and ran to inform the flight crew of the urgency.

Aziraphale wanted to calm his husband but the new wave of nausea was choking him. Crowley willed their belongings packed onto the plane once they arrived. The staff could explain it to themselves as they like. Aziraphale was hurried past the humans without another word. They entered their stateroom, and the door was slammed shut and locked.

Aziraphale felt another wave of sickness hit and darted for the bathroom. Crowley was there holding his hair. He wanted to rest on the cold floor, but his husband refused by carrying him to the bed.

Crowley sat, back against the headboard, legs spread wide and his angel between them. Aziraphale was snuggled in tight. Groaning at the ache that settled in his stomach. Crowley was doing his best to sooth, but the plane was in the air and headed for London long before Aziraphale could sleep.

‘Why are you doing this?’ He asked the ceiling. Crowley didn’t know what to do. Somehow he knew this was his doing. Something he should have seen coming. An angel doesn’t just bond their essence with a demon and come away unscathed. His damned nature was killing his angel. Slowly, so the two could watch as his angel faded away. ‘Please God no. Why would you do this? Punish me.’

He pulled his phone from his pocket, careful to not disturb Aziraphale. He dialled the number and waited.

“Crowley, how’s the grape picking?” Anathema’s voice was light and pleasant. Unaware of the plight of the caller.

A sob couldn’t be stopped. “Something is wrong, Anathema. We are headed home.”

“Crowley, what happened?” she never heard the demon cry. She tried to remain calm and focused. He was panicking she could tell even through the phone.

“It’s Aziraphale. I think…” saying it allowed was not something he could do. It made it all too real in a way. “Aziraphale is sick. We are headed back. Be in London in a couple of hours.” his voice broke on every word as he tried to explain.

“I will have Newt drive me to the bookshop.” She tried to reassure him. ‘Help. They need to hope help was possible.’

“Thank you.” he sniffed. ‘Crying to a human. Fuck what anyone would think.’

“Crowley?” her voice schooled and calm.

“Yes?”

“We will figure this out.”

“I need you to be right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	14. With HER Blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! Don't worry, our saga has many more chapters to come.

Sunday 15 September 2019  
3:40 pm  
London

Sunlight suffuses through the leaves of an ancient oak. Great limbs groaning as the breeze sways the boughs. Aziraphale is in a garden, their garden. Soft sweet scents carried on the air breathed into his lungs. It is peaceful here. All of God’s wonders sheltering them from the harsh world beyond their little Eden. 

Crowley is there, tending their garden. Knees cradled by thick grass as strong hands tend the rich earth. He is planting a beautiful lilac bush in full bloom. One of the hundreds of beautiful plants encompassing their home. Crowley looks so content, so at ease, Aziraphale feels his heart ache with appreciation. 

Crowley turns his head and smiles. His eyes unshielded by dark lenses. There is no worry nor pain in that smile. Crowley is happy, at peace, content in their little corner of the world. “They are beautiful, aren’t they, dove?” His voice is calm, reassured by the tranquillity of their life.

A shrill exuberant giggle cuts through the silence of their garden. Crowley and Aziraphale both look. The sound is coming from around the side of their home. Aziraphale can not see the source of the joyous laughter. His husband turns back to him with the brightest smile he has ever seen. “Don’t worry, dove. It’s my turn.” Crowley springs into a run. Bare feet bounding over the lawn in the direction of the sound. 

A moment later he hears another effervescent giggle and Crowley’s echoing laughter. It is such a carefree sound Aziraphale begins to cry. ‘Oh, to see you so happy.’

The breeze shifts, a presence approaches from Aziraphale’s right. It is comforting yet speaks of unimaginable power. “You will, blessed one.”

He knows that voice. He has longed to hear that voice on so many occasions. “My Lord?” he breathes out. He has not heard Her since the walls of Eden. Since he lied to her. Aziraphale often wonders if that was the reason she abandoned them all. 

She approached the little table where he is seated. Her smile warm and kind. “Hello, Aziraphale.”

“My Lord. Are you real?” ‘I am not worthy to behold your grace.’

“I Am that I Am. Tell me Aziraphale why is your husband so distressed? Is he not pleased with my blessing?” She asks, taking Aziraphale’s hand that rested on the powder blue wrought iron table. 

‘Yes, he is so distraught. I hate seeing him so troubled.’ “He is worried for me, my Lord.”

“Be not afraid, Aziraphale. You are favoured above all.” Her words caress his essence. All fear, all concerns fade, fleeing her comforting utterance.

‘Favoured? Over the others. All the angels above, demons below, and humans between?’ “I don’t understand, my Lord.” ‘I am nothing special.’

God rises. Even in this form, Her aura demands attention. She stands before him in her radiance and places a hand on Aziraphale’s abdomen. “They will be named Etzbael. Though your demon will have something to say about that.” She remarks with a knowing smile.

‘Etzbael. The Finger of God?’ “A child? My Lord are you quite certain.” Aziraphale asks knowing it is foolish. ‘This is God; certainty belongs only to Her.”

“My blessing Aziraphale. They are meant for great things, as are their parents.” She assures.

‘I have gone quite mad. God is here, touching me, telling me I am to bear a child.’ “My Lord, I am with child?” he asks aporetically.

The look Aziraphale receives is one of indignation“Yes, Aziraphale. Fear not, for I am with you. Protect My children of Earth. Look after them as you have always done.”

“I will, my Lord.” ‘I knew you never wanted them harmed.’

She looked off into the garden. Her smile was one of fondness, then one of regret. “Tell your demon I am with him as well.”

‘He is good. He deserves your forgiveness.’ “May you yet forgive him, my Lord?” ‘Please. I know how lost he is without your love.’

She returns to their conversation. “His fate is his alone. He understands this.” Her eyes appear as if she yearns for the circumstances to be different. “When you wake, you will remember. There is much to do.”

‘I wish Crowley were here to see You.’ “Yes, my Lord.” he bows his head in respect.

God smiles, taking a knee before her Principality. A single perfect kiss replaces Her hand. Aziraphale feels a sudden fluttering pulsation in his abdomen; it resonates through his body. Singing its awareness with notes of love and mirth. Aziraphale brings his hand to caress the spot where God’s lips anointed him. 

Tears fell from him as the little essence acknowledges their connection, gentle tendrils sweeping Aziraphale’s heart. ‘You are real. Oh, you are so very beautiful, my love.’ “Hello, little one.”

“Go in peace Aziraphale,” God promises pressing a final kiss to Her Principality’s forehead. With that, She is gone.

Aziraphale awakens with a start. He grasps his husband’s arm as he screams, “STOP THE CAR!”

The Bentley screeches to a halt. Aziraphale is panicked looking at Crowley with wide blue eyes. “Aziraphale what’s wrong?” ‘Are you going to be sick? What do you need?’

Aziraphale doesn’t respond. He looks down at his stomach, at his hand resting there. He still feels them. A small static charge just below the surface. ‘You are real. It wasn’t just some dream.’ A terrifying thought crashes into his mind. He looks back to his demon, ‘Oh God, what if this is something he doesn’t want?’ “Crowley?”

Crowley fully shifts to his angel, eyes assessing. ‘What now?’ “Talk to me, dove. What is wrong?”

“Crowley...I...we...I…” Aziraphale can’t bring himself to say the words. ‘What if he is angry? What if he leaves?’

“Aziraphale spit it out!” ‘God, please don’t do this. Please don’t take my angel.’ Panic is suffocating him. He knows his terror isn’t helpful, but he can not battle it into obedience.

‘We need you.’ “Crowley, it seems...It seems I am with child.” ‘Please don’t leave.’ His eyes focused on his husband, watchful, for any sign of displeasure.

Crowley stares open-mouthed at his angel. ‘Is this real? Did Aziraphale just say we are having a kid? We are having a baby. I am going to be a father? Blessing, that’s what She meant. Thank you. I am such an idiot. We are idiots. We should have known. I am going to be a dad.’ 

Then a revolting feeling settles within him. His mouth goes dry, and his heart nearly stops. ‘Shit, I am a demon. What does that mean for our kid? What if Aziraphale doesn’t want this? I am so happy, but what if Aziraphale isn’t? I need to approach this properly. What if...what if Aziraphale is angry at me? I did this. What if Aziraphale doesn’t want our child?’ 

Crowley searches for the appropriate words to say, anything. Inside his mind is wrestling between boundless joy and incapacitating fear. He wants this more than anything, but he is terrified he wants it alone. He looks first at Aziraphale’s stomach then his angel’s panic-stricken face. ‘Please be happy.’ 

‘He isn’t saying anything. He’s angry. Angry at me. He likes children but maybe doesn’t want this. God. God blessed us. Oh, our baby is such a gift. Please be happy about this, with me. We need you with us. In the dream, you were so happy. I know you would never forsake our child. Why are you not saying anything?’ “WELL SAY SOMETHING!” he shouts, breaking the unnerving silence.

“Aziraphale...Please don’t be upset. I don’t want to make you upset.” he takes his angel’s hand. Aziraphale’s eyes start to glisten with unshed tears. His angel looks painfully anxious. “I am so happy. This, us, our kid. I want this Aziraphale.” he confesses with an elated grin. “I have never in all my existence been so happy. I want this with you. Please don’t be upset. I love you.” ‘I want this. All of this. Share this with me.’

‘Upset?’ “I was worried you would be mad. That you never wanted this.” ‘That you wouldn’t want us.’

‘Like you could get rid of me with something as perfect as this.’ “It’s a surprise. I didn’t think it was a possibility. Everything makes so much sense now. I can’t be mad about our kid. The fact that they exist at all is a miracle.” He wanted to hug his angel, sing Her praises for all of Hell to hear. He settled instead on kissing that impossibly perfect hand.

‘Oh, dearest. Why do I ever doubt you? I am such a fool. She knew. She showed me how happy you would be.’ “Crowley, God came to me.”

“When? Where? I didn’t see Her.” he looks around as if She might still linger. 

“In my dream. Oh, Crowley, I heard them. Felt them. Here.” he places Crowley’s hand on his belly. Crowley’s pupils dilate impossibly wide, as a current of electricity dances across his palm.“God said their name is Etzbael.”

“The Hell it is.” he says with a grimace.‘That won’t do.’

‘You were right.’ he couldn’t help but admit. “God said we are to protect the Earth. She is with us. She wants me to tell you. She is with you as well.” He said, holding his husband’s hand firmly to where their child grew.

‘With me?’ “Not bloody well likely.” he groused in disbelief. ‘She wouldn’t give me a passing thought.’

Aziraphale saw the self-doubt written in his demon’s expression, even beneath those damned sunglasses.“Crowley, please. God has blessed us.” ‘Why would she bless us if not for love?’

“A kid.” It was the most impossible, ineffable thing. She could do. Never had an angel given rise to one of their own. That was part of what it meant to be an angel. Beholden to no one but Her alone. 

“Yes, dearest.” Aziraphale smiles. ‘Our child. Our little perfect miracle.’

“We are having a kid,” he says again in disbelief.

‘Poor thing is in shock.’ “As it is God’s will.”

“We are having a kid.” ‘I am going to be a dad. What the Hell?’

‘Seriously it isn’t that hard to comprehend.’ “Dearest we have established that.” ‘Honestly.’

Crowley looked at their hands joined on his angel’s stomach. “God, I don’t know what I did to deserve this but thank you.” ‘Thank you. A million times, thank you. Thank you for not taking Aziraphale from me. Thank you for your blessing. Thank you for this wonderful gift.’ He wants to cry, to laugh, to sing infinite praises to Aziraphale and Her.

‘Why does he look so terrified?’ “So you are happy...I mean you want to have a child...with me?” Aziraphale grips his husband’s hand tighter.

Crowley looks up. His angel looked as though he was waiting for Crowley to come to some horrible decision. ‘How could I not?’ “More than n’ything.”

Aziraphale breathed his satisfaction “Oh, oh, I am so relieved.”

It was all he could think to do when he pulled his angel in for a passionate kiss. Somewhere inside him, a voice reassured that everything would be ok. Raging waves of love and longing roll through him. His angel answered his kiss by scrambling into his lap. Hands grasping, tongues caressing, hearts beating in unison. Crowley’s pocket rang.

“Dearest, I believe…” a deep feral kiss. “Someone…” Crowley presses him against the steering wheel. “Is…” he gasps as his demon’s hands grip his sensitive breasts. “Trying to contact you. Yes, just there.” Crowley’s teeth bite into the flesh of his collarbone. He sucks possessively leaving a mark Aziraphale would relish come a new day. ‘I am yours, and you are mine.’

The searing heat of need pushing through him. Crowley knew who was on the other end. He wanted to ignore her call though something inside him needs to tell. Needs to share their news. 

He pulled back pressing a hand on Aziraphale’s abdomen, holding his angel in place. The desire turned to ache almost instantly. He drew the phone from his pocket levelling Aziraphale a commanding stare. He leaned back into the seat, pressing his pelvis into his angel’s juncture. “Bookgirl.” his tone was deceptively light.

“Crowley we are on our way, we got stuck on the M25.” the witch explained.

‘Stay right there, dove.’ his eyes demanded. “Yeah, sorry about that.” his hand brushed along a sumptuous hip. He gripped under his angel’s lush bottom, pulling Azirapale flush to his chest. Aziraphale was forced to bow with the ceiling. Hands grasping at hair. Breasts enticingly close to his mouth. “My fault.” Crowley’s serpent eyes focused on blue. He kisses that exquisite stomach. “Hey, so yeah, we figured it out.”

“Figured...What is it, what’s wrong with Aziraphale.?” her voice was sombre. 

“Yeah, seems to be I knocked Aziraphale up.” He grins provocatively up at his angel. Kissing the tartan separating them.

Aziraphale frowned at the crudeness of the phrase. “Do you have to be so crass?” He shivers as Crowley drew his nails across his buttock.

“Well...Wow! We’ll be there in ten minutes.” She exclaimed in surprise.

“Yeah, see you then,” he says, hanging up and tossing his phone aside. Crowley growls low in his throat, feeling a wave of raw desire stab through him.

The romper is ripped open as Aziraphale moans, “Do we have time?”

“Time bends to my will,” he growled low again. The world around them stopped. It was only them. An eternal moment at his command. This moment was theirs and theirs alone. Crowley possessed his angel’s throat with his tongue. There was love in the pulses, but the desire was all-consuming. He could do nothing but answer their call. 

He willed them naked, though the only sign of either taking note was an increase in fervour. Aziraphale pushed down onto Crowley’s effort in one sudden movement. He groans low at the acceptance, head falling back to the seat. 

Aziraphale rolls his hips. There was nothing but this; them, their bond their shared love, this moment of joy. Aziraphale takes Crowley’s hand; entwining their fingers and using them for support. His hips became insistent; he is moaning, chasing their shared pleasure. Crowley is thrusting, panting beneath him. Everything demanded more. “Take me Crowley.” was keened in desperation. 

Crowley flipped them. His knees in the floorboard. Aziraphale’s legs through hastily over his shoulders. He thrust in, pinning his angel to the seat. Aziraphale moaned quivering around him. Crowley withdrew nearly completely then thrusting in again pressing upwards to graze that wanton spot. There was no restraint, no thought beyond this. Crowley set a demanding pace; his angel clung to him, kissing desperately. 

The peak was there suddenly. Aziraphale gasped as he lost all sense of himself. The world went white, aching pulses rippling through his corporation. 

Crowley came seconds later. His body still thrusting riding each wave of his angel's orgasm. When Aziraphale ceases trembling, he slumps into his angel’s embrace. Breaths laboured with satisfaction. “I love you.”

Aziraphale smiles in bliss, “I love you, husband.”

4:40 pm

Crowley and Aziraphale took up their standard seats on their sofa. Crowley’s arm protectively thrown over his angel shoulder. Even if these two weren’t deemed a threat, a force within him made it compulsory. 

Anathema pulled up a small chair and studied Aziraphale. She is transfixed by the new little aura shinning within the angel. It looks like a sun made out of rainbow, brilliant and shining, it has a fiery core that shifts between red, orange, and yellow.

The aura has a willful presence. “You are going to have your hands full with this one.”

“Probably my fault.” groaned Crowley. 

Anathema stood, still focused on the aura. “They are definitely a healer. Very strong. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Aziraphale caressed his stomach. “I don’t imagine there has ever been anything like our child. Angels don’t reproduce like humans.” 'Half angel half-demon. We are both of angel stock. Does one's parent's status even matter?'

Newt considered the implications. 'No reproduction?' “How were you two…?”

Crowley exhaled irritably. “We are created. God’s will made manifest and all that.” 'this human isn't the brightest.'

'If you don't reproduce how then is the angel pregnant?' “So...how did...I mean...clearly you…” Newt asks in confusion.

'God, you missed handing out brains to this one.' “Yes, yes. We bonded. I imagine it had something to do with that.” Crowley explains curtly.

“Makes sense why you turned into a woman. The baby will need somewhere to gestate. And when it comes time for delivery, wider hips are somewhat necessary. I assume the breasts mean you will be feeding them.”

Aziraphale flushes crimson. “Oh, I hadn’t even considered. Yes, that does explain my inability to change my form.” 

“Explains the need for food. And the leeching. The baby has to draw energy from something to develop. Either you or what you consume.” she expounds, beginning to pace before them.

“Indeed.” 'Why didn't we recognise this before?' Aziraphale looks to his husband. 'We are both idiots.'

“How far along are you? The bonding was what? Almost three weeks ago?” she continues to pace. Mind working through a thousand considerations. 

“Yes, the evening of the twenty-sixth.”

“You said you already...sensed a heartbeat?” she pointed to Aziraphale's stomach.

“More like a, well...like an awakening. Hard to explain really.” it is difficult to explain to a human this unprecedented metaphysical implantation. 

“I am not sure how long an angelic pregnancy is, but conception to four weeks that seems about right. Do you two know how it all works?” '6,000 years you must pick up a thing or two.'

“Never been pregnant. Typically didn't make it a habit to be in the birthing room,” informs Crowley with a shrug. The antichrist was the closest he had ever come to childbirth.

“I have been privy to several birthings, but never participated in one.” And those Aziraphale chose not to observe from a distance. 

'Why am I not surprised?' “Right. Well, good thing you like books. You guys have a lot of reading to do.” Anathema looks around. The bookshop was so haphazard it's a wonder there isn't an avalanche of books at any moment. “And this place is going to be a nightmare to baby proof.”

'This is no place to raise a child. Crowley still hasn't said if he is willing to relocate. We have time for that.' He was suddenly famished. 'I haven't eaten. The baby is hungry.' “Thank you, Miss Device. Would you and Newton like to join us for sushi?” he offers. 

“You can’t eat sushi,” Anathema instructs. 'Who knows, he might be able to.'

“Why ever not?” Aziraphale adjusts his restored romper. 'I will eat what I want. The nerve.'

“Mercury in fish is bad for the baby. Raw meats as well. There is a whole list of things you need to avoid.”

'Quicksilver? In fish? Who's ever heard of such a thing? Nasty stuff. It could do horrible things to a baby. That can't be right.' “No sushi?” he asks, brows furrowing. 'I had sushi on our honeymoon. Did that harm our child?'

Anathema remembers the picture of Aziraphale drinking on the beach. “No alcohol either.” she scolds. 

'No alcohol?' Aziraphale's worry turns into indignation. “Oh, now wait just a moment,” he says affronted. 'Humans have been consuming alcohol nearly as long as they have existed. Pregnant or no. Though, this could be like ducks and bread.'

Crowley starts laughing hysterically. He sees how worried Aziraphale is. Face falling to that adorable pout. 'I shouldn't laugh. No sushi, fine. No alcohol and you nearly just smote the witch. I bet Gabriel had something to do with this. Fucking tosser.' “Maybe this is God’s way of saying you need to cut back.”

“I don’t see what is so amusing about it all. Really, Crowley.” he shifts away from his ridiculous husband. Looking off into the shop. 'I am in no mood for mockery.'

“Listen, I’ll send you two a list of books. Also, some links to helpful websites. You have a lot of stuff to consider.” Anathema says gathering her things. Newt assisting, ready to be away from this uncomfortable situation. 

“Humans have been doing this for 6,000 years. It can’t be all that serious.” Aziraphale says, more trying to reassure himself. 'There does seem to be quite a considerable amount of pain in the birthing. Isn't that enough?'

'They are like teenagers.' “Where are you going to deliver the baby? At a hospital? At home? Are you going to deliver the baby yourself, Crowley?” She cuts a look to the demon that tells him she knew he wouldn't. 

'If I have to witch. Though…' “I don’t know the first thing about delivering babies,” he admits. 'Shit. I hate reading.' 

“Exactly. Read the books. And I know you two don’t do doctors, but you might want to consider at least seeing an ob-gyn. Just to be on the safe side.” she instructs, throwing her bag over her shoulder. 

'Not bloody likely. What is an ob-gyn?' “You’re a witch. They were really just healers and midwives that pissed off the patriarchy. Can’t you just do it?” he asks in annoyance. 'Aren't you suppose to help?'

Anathema folded her arms in front of her. “I’ve never delivered a baby either. My mom has. A couple of times." She reflects. 'Perhaps mom would agree to help?' "You have time to think about all this. If you. Areally don’t want to go the traditional route we will figure something out. I could send Newt to school to be a midwife.” she knew how anxious that would make her boyfriend. 

“I daresay,” he says in alarm. 'I'm rubbish with computers. Don't want to think about what could go wrong if I handled a baby.'

“We’ll think it over,” Aziraphale says flatly. 'There is so much to consider. So much to do in preparation. God is with us. Everything is going to be fine.'

Crowley could see Aziraphale growing tired. The enthusiasm his angel had a moment ago consumed by the true gravity of their situation. "Thank's Anathema. We'll call you." They needed to be alone. 

The two humans leave. Crowley drags Aziraphale into his lap; arms holding his angel close. "I'm here, you know. I won't let anything happen to you or our baby." He is more determined than ever, to be anything his angel needs him to be. 

"I know dearest. It's just all a bit daunting." His mind skipping from all the things they need to do, to purchase, to the messy business of labour. 

"Look, the witch is right. We need information. We…" he kissed his angel's cheek. "Are going to get you supper. Then…" he turns Aziraphale to look at him. Those eyes are full of worry. 'Your eyes are impossible.' "Are going to add to your collection. We can do this." He claims those pouting lips with a sincere kiss. 

'You are going to make a wonderful father.' "Thank you, dearest. Of course, you are right. But perhaps we should get the books first. I would hate to endanger our baby out of ignorance." 'I hope I haven't done so already.' He clung to his husband for reassurance.

Sometime later, they have purchased every book on Anathema's helpful list. Even a couple extra the clerk at the bookshop recommended. They sat at the Italian restaurant several doors down from their bookshop. Aziraphale studying a book on prenatal nutrition.

"This diet is very restrictive. No shellfish. No organ meats. All I wanted at first was offal." He closed the book and poked at his food. Which was not carbonara he wanted due to the book forbidding it. 

"Dove, it will be fine. Our kid isn't human. Did God say you should be worried?"

"No." 'Surely she would have. "I just don't want to risk our baby on chance."

"I don't either. Now eat. You've got my kid in there. Eating for two as the humans say." Crowley grins wolfishly. 

"Our child." Aziraphale scolded, but ate. 

10:15 pm

Nighttime settled over London hours ago. The rain was pattering against the silent bookshop's windows. The two lounging in their nest, Aziraphale propped on pillows diligently reading one of the many books.

Crowley having hiked up the soft nightgown his angel selected, rested his head on Aziraphale's stomach. Every once and a while, a tender kiss was offered to their child within. 

'You are so endearing like this.' “A watched pot never boils dearest.” Aziraphale chides turning a page. 

“Yes, but they are in there,” he says in wonder. Hand smoothing over the nonexistent bump. 'I wonder if I can see their essence?' “Dove, can I?” he looks up hoping for permission.

Aziraphale sets down his book. “Yes, of course, dearest.” he shifts a little to get more comfortable.

Crowley smiles in appreciation. He wants to meet their little one so badly; this would have to do for now. He let his essence seep out. There, just inside, is a little glowing ball of light. It is bright like Aziraphale but fiery in a way that reminds him of a star. He feels the little essence acknowledge him. It brightens and reaches out with love; he answers in kind. He feels his corporation crying. Crowley hugs his angel tightly, burying his face in that warm stomach. 

"Thank you, Aziraphale." 'Thank you for everything. Thank you for this.'

"There is no need to thank me, my love. I am just as blessed to have you" Aziraphale caresses those crimson locks. 

'Blessed. You are blessed. I am still damned. No matter how amazing this all is, I am still Fallen.' Fear scrapes against old wounds. “Do you think...I mean...Me being a demon and all. Do you think…” 'I want to be a good father.'

'Oh, you can't think that about yourself. I will not have it.' Aziraphale grasps his brooding husband's face and demands his attention. “Crowley I do not doubt that you will be an exceptional father.”

He rests his chin on his angel. “I hope you are right. There are enough shit dads out there.”

'None of that.' “Dearest would you ever let anything harm our child?” 'Poor soul who would be foolish enough to try.'

Crowley shoots up at the idea. “No! I would…”

Aziraphale cups his cheeks. “And would you harm our child?” 'I know you would sooner bathe in Holy water.'

Crowley considers. 'Not intentionally. I would never hurt them intentionally. But what if I did? Just being around the baby, what if I hurt them?' He felt sick. “I…”

'You doubt what I see so clearly.' “Crowley, dearest husband, I do not think you capable of harming our child. I know you would do everything within your power to protect and care for us both. I know you will show them all the wonders of this world and teach them all there is to know. I know you are so full of love all ready for our little one, as they are for you.” Aziraphale wanted to kiss his worries away, but Crowley had him quite effectively pinned to the nest.

“You can’t know that,” he said, looking away. Aziraphale's sapphire eyes sometimes burned with love so tender that it hurt to look upon. 

'I will grind this into your head, my stubborn husband.' “Can’t I? Every time they hear your voice, I feel them reaching for you. Dearest, they love you very much.” It was true their baby demanded to be as close to their father as Aziraphale could be. 'Crowley might even sense it without knowing.'

Crowley smooths his hand over Aziraphale's abdomen. “I love you, kid. I am going to be the best dad there has ever been.” He presses a long kiss to his angel and their baby.

He feels a tingling warmth caressing his essence. If the baby were here, he was sure they would be smiling. "Happy little one aren't you?"

'That's the smile from my dream. Thank you for letting me see him so happy.' He offers to the One on high. “See dearest.”

“Thank you, Aziraphale.” he kisses his angel's belly again.

“Thank you, my love.” 'for being so wonderfully you.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism, please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character, that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	15. Fall Into My Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley in full Dad to be mode. Fluffy day!

Monday 23 September 2019  
London  
12:23 pm

Autumn was officially upon them. The trees of London beginning to turn their vibrant seasonal hue. An angel and demon recline on a blanket in St. James Park. It is another lovely day. A light breeze heralding the cooler weather to come. It has been one week and a day since the pair learned they are destined to be parents, and they couldn’t be happier.

Crowley is thoroughly studying Dude, You’re Gonna Be a Dad! By John Pfeiffer. The most helpful book he’s consumed so far, on his quest to be the best partner a demon could be. An exasperated sigh draws him from the Twitter etiquette section. Aziraphale looks somewhere between miserable and contemplation. A look his angel has been getting since the not so morning, morning sickness began. “Hungry, dove?”

Aziraphale slumps, letting his book drop to his lap. “Yes, but I am so nauseated I can’t bring myself to eat.” he wants to cry. He always wants to cry anymore. Fresh tears prickle at his determination to deny them.

‘Right, time to shine.’ “Well, good thing I packed for such occasions.” Crowley opens the hamper next to him. He riffles through the contents and begins presenting the options. “I’ve got ginger tea,” a thermos is set out. “ginger preserves,” a small jar and crackers join the thermos. “ginger snaps,” a large bag of soft ginger biscuits are presented. “And ginger ale made with real ginger.” Several miraculously cold cans are produced. 

‘You are so good to us. I am not going to cry.’ “Thank you, love. It’s so very thoughtful, if a bit excessive.” ‘I will not cry.’

‘Still got candied ginger and popsicles at the bookshop.’ “I am just looking out for you and our sweet pea.” He says opening the thermos and pouring a bit into the cup. “Here.”

Aziraphale accepts the offered tea. “Sweet pea?” he asks levelling Crowley with a curious look.

Crowley shrugs and opens the jar of preserves before closing the lid again. A courtesy for the mother to be. “They are the size of a pea at this point.”

Aziraphale’s face melts at the thought of their tiny little one. “That is so small. Are you sure?” He places a hand over his abdomen.

“S’what the books say.” Crowley shrugs again then sits up. Taking the bag of biscuits in hand and opening, offering the bag to his angel.

“While I appreciate the thought, I don’t think I can live off of ginger-based foods alone.” ‘I want real food that doesn’t make my insides rebel.”

Crowley smiles. ‘Sometimes, I get things right.’ “Which is why I also brought a fruit salad full of vitamin B6. And Greek Lemon Soup with Chicken and Orzo. I’m told it is bland enough not to agitate your nausea. And lemons seem to be a thing.” He sets two bowls next to Aziraphale.

‘I love you, you sweet, considerate demon. I am not going to cry.’ “What is the significants of lemons?’ He blinks back several tears.

“S’pose to also help with morning sickness.” He explains opening the offerings. 

‘I will not cry. It looks so good. When did you have time to go get this?’ “Well, that is very thoughtful. Thank you, my cherished husband.” Aziraphale leans in pressing a kiss to accepting lips, which threatens to escalate; before remembering their current location. Crowley grins mischievously at him.

“Drink the tea first. Wait a bit and then try the soup.” He gestures at the little plastic cup in his angel’s hand.

Aziraphale studies the liquid. ‘Ginger root.’ “Agnes mentioned ginger tea.”

“Did she?” he says in mocking astonishment. 'Of course, the witch knows our every move.'

“Yes.” Aziraphale sips the tea. He feels the pleasantly warm tea settle in his irritated stomach. “She said, trust in thy demon. Take thy tea with root of ginger. ‘Twill easeth thy affliction.” he sips the tea again. Aziraphale sighs as the nausea is eased.

Crowley pours more tea. ‘Looks to be working.’ “See, she said, trust me.”

‘I trust you completely. I love you. I will not cry.’ “I do trust you. And the tea appears to be doing the trick.” Aziraphale takes another long sip. ‘Maybe, I can live off of ginger alone.’

“Good. You’ve been looking a bit green all week.” ‘I am glad I can do something.’

Aziraphale swirls the amber tea. He is fighting a pout.“The book, I was reading yesterday, says the morning sickness will probably end around the second trimester.” ‘God, willing sooner.’‘

“Seven more weeks.” ‘I wish I could do more. I wish I could make it go away completely.’ “I could try to miracle it away.’

“I’ve already tried. It simply comes back worse. And please don’t remind me.” He finishes the cup. “The tea was lovely. Thank you, dearest.”

‘There has to be more I can do to make this easier for you.’ “It’s the least I could do. You’re doing all the hard work over there.”

‘Oh, you are blaming yourself again.’ “It isn’t all that bad.” ‘Stop whinging. It will do him no good. I am a Principality for Her sake.’

Crowley grasps Aziraphale’s hand and pulls it to his mouth. A gentle kiss is pressed to his angel’s wrist. “If there is anything you need? I…”

‘You are doing everything you can. I can see how diligent you are with everything. You are going to be such an amazing father. Oh, damn these eyes. I WILL NOT CRY!’ “Dearest, you are going to worry yourself mad. I am fine. We are fine. Its all part of bringing our little miracle into this world. You couldn’t be a better father or husband if you tried.” Aziraphale kisses his devoted demon in reassurance. 

“I bloody well intend to try.” He says with conviction. ‘I am going to be with you every step of the way. Every moment. Anything you need.’

“I know dearest,” he says, voice betraying his battle of will, against his flooding emotions. 

“Mr Crowley.” a familiar Scottish brogue breaks into their contentment. 

Crowley bristles at the greeting. Every fibre of his being is at attention. Ready to strike the contemptible human down for his actions that led to his angel’s discporporation. “You manky son of a bitch,” Crowley growls putting himself between the conman and Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale is there, holding his angry husband’s arm. “Sargent Shadwell. So good to see you again. Madame Tracy.” Aziraphale says with all courtesy. ‘The Witchfinder doesn’t know the danger he has just walked into.’

The former Madame sees the obvious threat the redhead is offering. Thankfully the angel she shared a body with seems to be holding the leash. “It’s Mrs Shadwell these days, love.” she smiles. The fact that the angel is female doesn’t go unnoticed. The books laying on their blanket is evidence enough as to why.

Aziraphale smiles brightly, pulling Crowley into his side. “Congratulations. What wonderful news.” ‘Calm down.’

Shadwell looks over the blonde at his former employer’s side. Appearing confused as ever. “I’m afraid I dun’t r’member make’n yur aquaintance, mum.” 

Ms Tracy turns to her husband and places a pat to his chest. “Oh Mr Shadwell, do be a love and get me an ice cream?” She bats her eyelashes at her oblivious husband.

“Du I luk like’n erran boy?” he sneers at his wife.

‘Manky, rude, pustule on Hasturs rotted maggoty bollocks.’ “I suggest you do as your wife says.” he glares, chest heaving to maintain restraint.

Shadwell knows a command that best not be ignored when he heard one. “R’ght. Icecream. Be r’ght back.” He fears to turn his back on Mr Crowley but hurries off through the park.

Ms Tracy sighs in relief that for once her husband made no curt protest. “I see there is a Congratulation in order for you two, as well.” she gestures to the books.

Aziraphale turns to see what the lady was referring to. “Oh, yes. Bit of a surprise.” he smiles sheepishly.

‘The only reason I am allowing you to stand here is for the help you gave my angel, harlot.’ “Keep him away from my angel,” Crowley growled. 

Ms Tracy tisks. “Oh, he’s harmless.” ‘I am familiar enough with Aziraphale to know you are nearly harmless as well.’

Crowley’s rage boiled at the human’s dismission. “He burned down our bookshop.” He pointed at the Sargent, arguing with the cart vendor.

Aziraphale pulls his husband back to his side. “Crowley! Dearest, it was an accident.”

“I don’t care.” he turned to his angel, hand cupping cheeks. ‘Nothing will harm you ever again.’ A protective arm was thrown around his angel, holding Aziraphale close. He turned back to the woman. “Keep him away from Azzziraphale, away from the booksssshop, and if he wantssss to live, away from me.” He hissed with every bit of venom he could suffuse into his words. It was not a threat. ‘My family will be safe.’

Tracy rolled her eyes. ‘Please, no need for dramatics.’ “Tetchy. Is he always like this?” She asks Aziraphale flippantly.

‘Oh, please don’t test his patients.’ “No, he’s just concerned for our safety,” Aziraphale says, a hand absently resting on his stomach. 

“How far along then?” she asks determined to ignore the glowering demon.

“By human calculations, which are a bit odd, six weeks.” ‘Why they count the two weeks before conception is beyond me.’

“Oh, isn’t that wonderful. Is your man treating you well, love?” she patted the angel’s hand.

Aziraphale melted thinking of how wonderful their child’s father was, even now. ‘I WILL NOT CRY!’ “He is the best husband anyone could hope for,” he announced, looking directly at his demon.

“Good to hear. If you need anything, dear…” she pulls a card from her bosom handing it to Aziraphale. “give us a ring.”

Aziraphale accepts the card. “Thank you, Mrs Shadwell. I will keep that in mind.”

“H’re ya are woman.” Shadwell returns with a cone.

“Thank you, love. Now, why don’t we head over to that side of the park.” She knew their presence would only be tolerated for so long. She walked her husband away from the kindly angel and his wrathful demon.

“She is a good lady,” Aziraphale says coaxing Crowley back to their blanket.

Crowley sneers at the departing humans. “No accounting for taste. Marrying that pillock Shadwell.” he groused. 

‘Can’t argue that.’ “Well, that may be.” he sat taking the fruit salad in hand. Crowley handed him a fork glaring at the ground. Aziraphale took a bite. It was cool and delicately sweet. “Oh, this is delightful.”

“Put a bit of lemon juice innit. Well, and yoghurt.”

“You made this?” He looked at the beautifully crafted salad. 

“Yeah, while you were napping. W’sn’t hard. Cutting fruit mostly.” he informs, taking up his book again.

“Thank you, dearest.” The tears finally win. ‘Oh, damn it all.’

Crowley sees his angel crumble into a fit of crying. “C’mere.” he pulls his angel into his lap. “Crazy emotions again?” He kisses Azirphale’s temple.

‘No control over my body, and now my feelings.’ “Sorry. You are just so wonderful.” he sobs against his husband’s chest.

“You are so damned adorable.’ “S’alright. Eat. Cry. I’ve got you.” he rubs soothing circles into his angel’s back.

“I love you so much.” Aziraphale grips his demon’s shirt.

“I love you too, dove. And that little emotional terrorist inside you, as well,” he says holding his little family tight.

“It’s...not...their...fault.” he manages between stuttering sobs. 

“I know.” Crowley kisses his angel’s forehead. 

After Aziraphale is able to compose himself, he finishes the fruit salad and most of the scrumptious soup. Crowley encourages him to stop before getting too full, causing the nausea to return. “Could you make this again for dinner?” he pleads. 

Crowley smiles at his angel’s little pout. “Yes, dove. Now” He stands and pulls Aziraphale up. “We have an appointment to keep.”

“An appointment?” Aziraphale questions as Crowley packs up their little picnic.

“Yeah, it’s not far. Kill two birds with one stone,” he says, taking his angel’s hand.

“How so?” He knows his demon is up to something. 

Crowley turns, pulling Aziraphale to him. “You, my beautiful dove, need to walk after eating. Helps with the nausea. And…” holds up his angel’s hands for inspection. “How long has it been since you had a proper manicure?”

“Oh, oh dear.” he assesses his hands. “They do look awful.” ‘Oh, dear. I have been so focused on other things I have neglected my nails.’

‘Shit.’ “Not what I meant. You and I are going for a bit of pampering.” he kisses his angel’s palm.

Aziraphale loses to his emotions once again. Tears and sobs are all he can manage in response. 

“C’mon, dove. It’s this way,” he says, throwing an arm around his angel’s shoulders. He would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy being there to comfort Aziraphale in his little breakdowns.

After a brief eight-minute walk, they enter a posh spa, greeted by the attentive woman behind the counter. “Hello, how may I assist you?”

“Yeah, me and the Missus have an appointment,” Crowley says, leaning an arm against the counter the, other holding Aziraphale to his side.

“What is the name?” she asks, taking the appointment log in hand.

“Crowley,” he says, glancing around the room.

“Oh, yes. Mr and Mrs Crowley, please if you would follow me.” They are led to a private changing area, two plush robes provided. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Lemon water? Champagne?”

“Lemon water for the both of us,” Crowley instructs, already removing his shirt. The young woman sensing this was her cue to leave hurries from the room. 

“Lemon water?” ‘Oh, this won’t do.’ “Just because I can not drink, dearest, doesn’t mean you should deny yourself.” Aziraphale offers.

“Solidarity.” he shrugs unfastening his trousers.

Aziraphale pouts but knew arguing was useless. If his demon refused, there was nothing he could do to convince him; short of forcing a glass into his hand. He began to undress. The soft dress he selected that morning was hastily pulled over his head; undergarments following in quick order. He was pulling on his robe when he turned and saw his husband slipping out of his boxers. ‘Oh confound it.’ 

One of the more appreciated side effects they both seem to enjoy was Aziraphales ever-increasing need for Crowley. Yet, in moments like this, the all-consuming urge to have his husband was at best an inconvenience. His desire raging inside him as his eyes study that sinuous body. 

Crowley felt it. A sharp jab of desire shooting through him. He groaned as his own body demanded he responds. “I could help you with that, you know.” he purrs low.

Aziraphale hears the promise of pleasure in that tone and turns away. He hastily put on the white robe, tying it closed. ‘Not here. We are practically in public.’ “I can put on a robe Crowley.” he scolds, hoping to discourage them both.

“No. I know what you want, dove. That thing you give off. I have you at a bit of a disadvantage.” He closes the distance between them. Tugging on the sash of Aziraphale’s robe. “I always know exactly... what you want.” his voice deepening more as the robe slips open. Aziraphale gasps as Crowley presses his angel against the wall, knee between already trembling thighs. 

Aziraphale felt guilty. ‘I don’t even know if you want this or just feel obligated.’ “I am sorry, Crowley. I don’t mean to be so demanding.”

“Demanding?” ‘You have got to get over this selfishness thing.’ Crowley pushes his knee up, feeling his angel’s arousal already desperate for connection.

Aziraphale can’t help but seek the friction provided.“It’s constant. I can’t seem to control myself anymore.” he whimpers fighting to regain his composure but failing miserably under that possessing serpent stare.

“So don’t” Crowley in one fluid movement lifts Aziraphale, robe and all, wrapping his angel’s legs around his waist. “Do you want me, dove?”

“Yes.” is breathed between them.

Crowley thrusts up. Aziraphale gasps at the sudden connection. ‘Like this, dove?” He knows the answer. He feels the overwhelming need calling to him, but he wants to hear it all the same.

“Yes.” Aziraphale doesn’t even try to restrain the tears that fall freely now.

Crowley groans low as he slides slowly, almost free, before pressing in again, with a determined thrust. The keening moan he receives as all the affirmation he needs. He keeps that rhythm. A slow drag out countered by a firm quick return. It isn’t long before his angel is nearing that peak. Nails biting into his shoulders as the pleasure builds. 

Aziraphale’s head collides with the wall behind him as his climax rips through him. Crowley follows almost immediately. They stay there for a moment; Aziraphale firmly pinned to the wall. He is sure if he tried to stand now his legs would give out.

Crowley huffs a laugh between panting breaths. “Better?”

“Yes,” he says, kissing his husband firmly.

There is a light knock at the door. Crowley growls his displeasure. Aziraphale clears his throat and answers, “Be out in a moment.”

Crowley sets his angel down, miracling away any evidence of their coupling. Save for the marks left on his shoulders. Which causes his angel to blush, but no protest is offered.

The spa services were divine. They both received luxuriously diligent manicures and pedicures. Aziraphale happy to have his nails once again presentable. He was glad to have his husband there to enjoy in the “pampering” as he called it.

Crowley was enduring the humans for his angel’s sake. He knew if he had simply arranged for his angel to go alone, it would cause Aziraphale to feel unnecessarily guilty. Watching his angel relax for the first time in days was a generous trade.

When they were led to the couple’s massage room, Crowley took great pleasure removing his robe, revealing his proudly earned scratches. His masseuse was pretending not to notice. 

The massage began with a thorough exfoliation. Neither of them informed the humans that such a thing was superfluous. Once they washed off the scrub, they both received wonderfully relaxing massages. Crowley opted for a deep tissue treatment. Aziraphale’s was specifically tailored to expectant mothers, designed to ease tension in areas prone to discomfort during pregnancy. The heated smooth rocks they both appreciated. Aziraphale’s own treatment ended with a soothing facial that left him sleeping soundly. 

Crowley ordered the humans from the room. He sat next to his angel and smoothed his hand over Aziraphale’s warmly wrapped abdomen. “Mum is resting.” he delicately pushes his essence in to meet their child. “I know it is a lot to ask, and you are busy working very hard to grow strong. But I need your help here. It is going to be a very long seven months for you both. Mum really needs our help to get through it. I’ll do everything I can on my end. Just go easy on the kicking when it comes time, yeah? And stay off the spine too. I heard that hurts.”

He felt their little one’s answering caress. He lays a kiss to his angel’s stomach. “Thanks, kiddo. I promise to get you a poney or whatever one day.” 

Soho  
6:14 pm

Back at their bookshop, in their nest, Crowley rests his chin on his new favourite spot. He was already on to another book. 

“Huh...” he says, intending to get his angel’s attention.

“What’s that, dearest?” Aziraphale looks up from Agnes’s prophecies, which seem to be nothing more than a midwife’s advice on an uncomplicated pregnancy. Though several lines he has yet to decipher speak of fire and The Host. 

“You read about this mucus plug thing yet?” he asks, wondering if his angel has one.

Aziraphale’s brows furrow at the thought. “Please don’t, dearest. I just finished supper.”

“Says here it…” he began but was quickly cut off. 

“Crowley I am begging you to not finish that sentence,” he whined. 

“It’s fascinating.” when he saw his angel’s pleading blue eyes, he sighed. “Fine. Your no fun.” he went back to his reading.

A worrying thought seeded in his mind. ‘What if something is wrong? What if I don’t have a mucus plug? What if the baby was affected by my careless behaviour early on? What if they aren’t developing properly?’ He set his own book aside, anxiety making it impossible to focus. “Do...Do you think I should see a doctor, as Anathema suggested? Make sure everything is alright?” ‘Please let everything be alright.’

Crowley looked up. ‘You are fretting. It is going to be okay. She blessed you. Not some standard pregnancy.’ “If you want. I’ll go with you. But Aziraphale everything is going to be fine. God’s blessing and all.” 

Aziraphale was once again fighting against the need to cry. “I...I mean. Oh, I know it’s just me being silly. I am a bit scared.”

‘Scared.’ That one word sent Crowley, rushing to his angel’s side. He drew Aziraphale into his arms, hand caressing his angel’s soft cheek. “What are you afraid of?”

Aziraphale is drowning under a torrent of emotions. “I...our baby...I know they are God’s direct will...but…” Tears began to blur his vision. 

“But?” Crowley kisses his angel’s trembling lips.

“I read about the chances of miscarriage being highest during this time. I want to make sure they are safe.” ‘I need to know they are alright.’

Crowley saw the guilt and panic in his angel’s eyes. “Aziraphale, dove, they are going to be fine. But if it will make you feel better than we will go see a doctor.” He holds Aziraphale close, rocking them slightly.

“Thank you, love.” ‘You make me feel so safe.’ “I...I just can’t get it off of my mind is all.” he holds his husband tighter.

“Then we’ll look for the best doctor in London. One of these sods must know what they are doing,” he says, grinning down at his emotional angel. ‘I won’t let anything happen.’

“Thank you, dearest.” ‘I appreciate everything you are doing.’

“Anything angel.” He tilts Aziraphale’s chin to claim his angel with an encouraging kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	16. You Are In My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First prenatal appointment.

Monday 30 September 2019  
2:25 pm  
Soho

After an exhaustively thorough search, they both came to an agreement on an Ob-Gyn office not too far from the bookshop. The client’s ratings were the highest in the city, with only stellar reviews. The doctor that ran the facility had quite the list of accolades attached to their name. Crowley called and made their first appointment. Which, had finally arrived on this rainy Monday afternoon.

Crowley was pacing irritably outside their bathroom door. Aziraphale has been hold up in the bathroom, door locked, for nearly an hour. He was determined to be patient, but they currently have an important appointment to keep. One which Aziraphale has insistently obsessing over for since last week. “Aziraphale? Aziraphale, dove, come on. We're going to be late. Angel!”

There was no answer. Crowley knew he had no other choice. None that would solve their current dilemma at any rate. With a snap, The door was unlocked. Slowly he peers into the dim bathroom. There, sitting despondently on the edge of the tub, was his angel, clutching a bra. Crying softly so as to not be heard.

“Dove?” he asks tenderly. His heart aching at his angel's current state.

“None of them fit.” Aziraphale huffs a sob. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, looking away from his husband. “Not a single one. I can get the clasps to close, but the cups are too small. My breasts hurt so much.” a little hiccup distorted much.

Crowley slowly approaches his angel, “Hey, C’mere.” He takes Aziraphale’s hand, which gripped the plain cotton bra. “Lemme see. I can fix it.” 'I hate seeing you so upset.'

“I have…” he looks up pitifully at his husband, eyes red and swollen. “Cramps. Just this dull ache that won't go away... I still feel like I'm going to be sick at any moment… and I can't stop crying.” at this, he burst into a renewed fit of tears.

Crowley knelt in front of his angel. Hands soothing over bare thighs. “Shhh. Aziraphale, dove, we don't have to go. You can come back to the nest and rest.” ‘I really hate that you are so miserable.’

“No... I need to know... I have to know... if they are alright.” He sobs, frowning, hands punctuating his determination.

“Fine, but as soon as we get home, you are getting in our nest. You need to take it easy. I’ll handle e’vrythin else.” Crowley tilts Aziraphale’s chin to force eye contact. ‘God, you are so beautiful.’

‘Don’t look at me. I am a mess.’ “You already do too much.” ‘I want you to hold me. I want to sleep until my next trimester. I am tired of being sick. I want normal food. And I don’t want to sit in our bathroom blubbering like some idiot.’

‘I wish I could do more.’ “Listen, this is my job. One I am more than happy to do. I know it makes you feel selfish, but right now, until you feel better, let me handle things.” ‘Let me make this easier for you.’

‘I am selfish. I am selfish, and you are so wonderful. You are going to get fed up with my weakness. “I feel so weak right now. I am being a burden.”

“No, you aren't. You're being the hormonally overwhelmed mother of our child. It's normal Aziraphale, and you are not weak. You’re a Principality for God’s sake. We faced down Armageddon together. We can certainly get through the next few months.”

‘Principality of the Bathroom Tears. Soft, ridiculous, useless Aziraphale. Always letting everyone down. I don’t want to let you down.’ “You are going to grow tired of my foolishness, and regret we ever bonded,” slips from his mouth very much unbidden. He looked at the floor; unable to meet those golden eyes. Aziraphale didn’t want to see if there was even a hint of truth to those words.

Crowley stood, considered pacing, but remained where he was. ‘Regret?’ Part of him was angry. ‘You think so little of me, that a few tears and some mild inconveniences would what? Make me ditch you and our kid? Make me throw away 6,000 years of loving you? I think fucking not Aziraphale. I’d sooner pull my own heart from my chest, and watch you dance the fucking gavotte on it.’

The other, clearer side of his mind knew what those words really were. ‘They hurt you in so many little ways. You don’t even see the scars. I know this is just leftover shit from Heaven. You are the most beautiful thing God has ever created. No matter what those pricks made, you believe. You aren’t getting rid of me. Not now, not ever.’

His mind as a whole settled on something a bit in between. “Absolutely none of that. Get up.” Aziraphale starts to pout. “Now,” he growls. “I'm going to fix you up. Then you are getting dressed. I am going to help, no arguments. We are going to see this doctor.” he grabs a few things from the bathroom counter so fast Aziraphale isn’t able to see what they are. “And she is going to tell you that e'vrything is fine. I will hear no more about me regretting you or our child.”

This time, when Aziraphale’s chin is tilted, the look in Crowley’s eyes is commanding. Crowley makes it a point never to demand his angel do anything, but this he needs his angel to understand. “Ever again, do you hear me. Not ever Aziraphale. I will never regret you or our child.”

Aziraphale knows that look is one of hurt, not anger. “Oh, oh, dearest. Crowley that was most unkind of me.” ‘this whole day is turning into a complete nightmare.’ “I am so sorry.”

Crowley wants to hold Aziraphale. Fight away his angel’s troubles and maybe punch a couple of archangels in their faces. Right now, however, Aziraphale needs him to be understanding and a motivating voice of reason. “Well, if you are sorry then work with me, yeah?”

Aziraphale stands, handing Crowley the offending bra. Taking it, he ushers him from the room. Aziraphale doesn't fight, doesn't protest. He knows Crowley is right. His kind husband is just trying to help, and it would be easier for them both if he were to be compliant.

Crowley sits his angel in a chair at their dinette. Setting the bottle of primrose oil, and lavender lotion down. "Nauseous still?" Aziraphale nods his acquiescence.

He hurries over to their little lemon tree and plucks a fruit. Setting it on the table, Crowley miracling a knife and cutting board. Silently he cuts the bright yellow lemon into thin slices before handing one to his angel. "Never thought our little frivolous purchase would come in handy."

Aziraphale thinks about that happy day in the flower market. For the first time that morning, he smiles. "Thank you, dearest." He says, accepting his husband's offering. A tentative nibble is taken of the juicy flesh. It is perfectly tart, biting back against the nausea. "I'm not sure why this works, but I'm thankful it does." 'And I'm thankful for you.'

"Good," Crowley says with a pleased smile, handing Aziraphale another slice. "Where are the cramps, dove?" serpent eyes gliding over his angel’s bare skin. ‘Keep your hands to yourself. Aziraphale doesn’t feel up to it, and we don’t have time. Focus.’

"My lower back," Aziraphale says gesturing with the lemon, turning slightly as if there were some evidence to the fact. Eyes dolefully asking for what has already proffered.

‘Shit. That look is not helping. God, you are so gorgeous.’ "And your breasts, dove?" Crowley looks them over, biting his lip. ‘This simply isn’t fair.’ "They have gotten bigger. S'a wonderer you don't have upper back pain." He says running a finger along the bottom curve. The skin enticingly soft and warm. Everything within him hung on the caress.

Aziraphale tries to distract himself with the lemon. Under the weight of his husband's scrutiny, he feels other needs beginning to make themselves known. The hungry look in those golden eyes turns his insides to a furnace of desire. ‘Take me.’

Crowley shakes his head free from his lustful trance. It would not help either of them to continue to indulge in such thoughts. ‘Baby. Appointment. Aziraphale needs this.’ He takes the bottle of massage oil in hand. "To work then." He pours the little that remains into his palm, warming it vigorously, needing the distraction. "I need to get the ingredients to make more."

All of his efforts to compose himself rocket right out of the flat’s window. His angel, the beautiful divine ruler of his heart, hits him square in his essence with a barb of raw need. Crowley is staggered and for a moment, questions if Aziraphale isn’t in control of the of this sensation. Hypnotic cobalt eyes shining up at him.

‘I am yours. Take what you want of me.’ “Thank you, darling. You are so good to me Crowley. I appreciate everything you do immeasurably.” his voice light, enticing his demon to action.

Crowley clutches the little chair at his side. Wood creaking in his grasp. ‘Why do I have to be the sensible one? I am the fucking demon here. Doctors. Baby. Shite.’ Jaw clenching, he positions the chair in front of Aziraphale. This position would be a bit awkward compared to the bath, but clothing was his only restraint at the moment. He growled a deep, resonant groan, determined to focus his mind. Cupping each breast at this angle did allow him to apply firmer pressure with his thumbs. ‘Doctor. Focus. This isn’t pleasurable. This is fixing a problem. Aziraphale is in pain; you are helping.’

The massage was never as painful as the first time, but it did still needles something awful. Not enough to discourage Aziraphale’s ever-burgeoning thoughts. He knew Crowley could feel the desire pulsing within him. He knew the groan that escaped Crowley was an attempt to stay on task. Aziraphale was also aware he was nearly naked, feet from their nest, and his longing was palpable. His own moans that escaped him weren’t entirely involuntary.

Crowley knew if he looked up from his ministration, and saw those blue eyes clouded with desire, they would never leave their bookshop. As it was, he had already miracled their appointment to a later time, twice. He figured that was the human’s problem. Right now, his problem was controlling himself and keeping their plans on track. The soft exquisite sounds his angel was making was putting those plans in real jeopardy. ‘Focus, focus, focus.’

He clears his throat, trying to muster the necessary composure for the next bit. “I…” He has to clear his throat again. “Need you to lay down, dove.” standing, he turns away abruptly, one hand shoved securely into his pocket, the other strangling the lavender cream. “Let me see to your back.”

Aziraphale does as asked. Crossing the flat to their nest and laying down. Careful to tuck a soft pillow under him to mitigate the pressure on his breasts. He waited for Crowley to join him, the anticipation doing nothing but fanning the already raging inferno within.

‘Fuck me.’ Crowley stood there, looking down on that pale vision of ethereal beauty before him. Little delicate lace panties the only thing even playing at the pretence of covering his angel’s nudity. ‘What have I gotten myself into. Trouble. That is the only thing this is. Trouble. The things you do to me, angel, just aren’t fair.’ He stifles another groan as a new wave of aching desire pulses through him. ‘Dammit.’

Aziraphale turns his head to peak over his shoulder. His demon looks as though he is losing a battle of will. “Crowley?” he whispers, nearly a plea.

‘Fuck. You can’t say my name like that, looking like that. Shit. Ob-gyn, ob-gyn. Doctor, doctor, doctor. No sex. Shit.’ He clears his throat to no success. Half his words still hitch on their way out. “Righ...right here d...dove. Lem...lemme get the uh...lotion.”

He looks to the table then realises he already has the lotion in hand. Crowley sighs in utter defeat but goes to the nest. It would have to be Aziraphale’s call. He resigned himself not to press the issue but knew he was hopeless to stop if Aziraphale initiated anything.

Aziraphale felt Crowley beside him, kneeling in their nest. Feeling the bedding shift as a leg came over and straddled his thighs. His mind wondered what it would feel like to make love in this position. Crowley insisted, silently with his actions, to always couple face to face. The one occasion Aziraphale was turned away was on the plane. He made a decision to broach the matter, should things not progress where he currently wanted them to.

He could hear his husband's methodical breathing as warm lotioned hands came to rest on his back. ‘I want you. I never stop wanting you. Take me just like this.’ As diligent hands begin kneading at his aching muscles, he feels a shiver of desire run the length of his spine.

Crowley sees it. The muscles in his angel’s back tensing rapidly then releasing. He feels it, thrumming into him with a delicious ache. “Fuck.” Then he hears it, a soft, breathy moan as his thumbs follow the rippling muscles. His own effort demanding he gives in to their mutual need. All their options racing through his mind. ‘Quick, we can do quick. No, can’t guarantee that. I could just satisfy Aziraphale. No, that damn selfishness thing. Shit. We have an appointment. I can’t make it any later. Didn’t they say something about abstaining? Fuck! How long can I stop time for?”

Crowley poured his frustrations into the massage. the rhythmic movement was grounding, but not wholly diverting. He knew he was trembling; he has sense enough of himself to feel it. Aziraphale’s skin is flush from his tending. He quickly looks to his watch. ‘3:19. Time to go. We have to go.’ “How is your back?” he struggles to ask.

“Much better, dearest. Thank you.” He felt Crowley hurry to stand. Aziraphale watches as his husband darts past him to their closet, searching through his clothing. “Crowley?”

“Dove?” ‘Please don’t ask. Doctor. We are going to the doctor to check on the kid.’

Aziraphale hears the struggle in the pet name. “Is everything alright, dearest?” Clearly, it wasn’t, but he was recently making it a point only to engage Crowley at his demon’s insistence.

'Nope' “Yup. Fine. Here wear this.” he turns, holding a soft sweater dress. Refusing to look directly at his basking angel.

“Crowley do you...uh...that is…” 'If he wants me, he will tell me.'

“Aziraphale we have an appointment. Trust me. It’s not that I don’t want to.” 'I reaaally want to.' “But if we don’t leave now, then we’ll have to wait at least until tomorrow.”

“Right, of course.” ‘The baby’s health is more important.’ “We have plenty of time after.” Aziraphale smiles ‘Tonight I will see you thoroughly satisfied, my love.’

Crowley assists his angel from their nest. He goes and retrieves the wicked bra from the dinette. Miracling it to accommodate Aziraphale’s ever-growing breasts. “They’ll all be more comfortable going forward.” Crowley gestures for Aziraphale to turn and assists his angel into the garment.

Aziraphale quickly slides on the dress, Crowley helps him into the little tartan ballerina flats. “Thank you, dearest. Ready when you are.” He says, smiling turning towards the door, pulling on his favourite cardigan.

“You are far better at tempting than I ever was, dove,” he says, kissing his angel’s cheek.

3:45 pm  
Divinity Obstetrics and Gynaecology

Crowley seats Aziraphale in the chair nearest the restroom, as a precaution should the need to wretch occur. He saunters up to the receptionist who smiles at him cloyingly, “Hello. Name please?”

“Aziraphale.”

“Oh, yes. Here you are.” the young woman passes him a clipboard and pen. “Fill this out and bring them back to me. The nurse should be with you, momentarily.”

“Thanks.” Crowley took the papers and sat next to his angel. He considers letting Aziraphale fill out the forms, but he was quite confident he could do it faster. “Right.” The first page was easy enough. Name, address, the usual. The birth date was a bit tricky. Aziraphale looked roughly forty in human years. Any older and they might draw unwanted questions. Reading the pregnancy books, he decided thirty-five would do.

Then came the medical history form. “Chief reason for today’s visit?” he read aloud. Smiling to himself, ‘They won’t believe a word of this anyways.’ “Pregnant by God’s divine will.” he murmured so only Aziraphale could hear.

"Crowley." ‘Don’t you dare.’ he cut his husband a warning look.

Crowley’s smile widens at his fussy angel’s reaction. "Whot? I'm not going to lie to the doctor." He says emphasising lie. “First day of last menstrual period? Never.” he writes.

“You can’t put that.” Aziraphale admonishes. ‘God give me strength.’

Crowley acts as if insulted. “You’ve never had one.”

Aziraphale leans in and whispers, “I know that, but it might make them suspicious.”

“Fine,” he groans. “Give us a date then.”

Aziraphale thinks on his research, “Uh, August 12.” he says watching to make sure Crowley doesn’t write anything untoward.

“What year?” he glances up, determined to frustrate his angel. 'Only a bit.'

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, ‘You are being purposefully difficult.’ “This year. They happen once a month,” he informs in a whisper.

“Excessive.” Crowley scrunches his nose.

“Suppose to be your fault, you know.” Aziraphale offers, with a quick glance at his husband’s reaction.

“My fault?” Crowley asks loudly.

“Shhhh. Keep your voice down.” Aziraphale scolds, hiding a slight satisfied smile.

“How in Heaven is it my fault?” he asks, aghast at the thought.

“Some theologians say it was Eve’s curse after the temptation though it’s rubbish. Just a less than convenient bit of biology.” Aziraphale explains.

“The things I get blamed for,” he grumbles. “Last pap smear?”

“What on Earth is that?” he frowns at Crowley.

“No idea.” he fishes his phone from his pocket. Punching in the word, then he hits search. Clicking on a website he begins to read. After a moment, his phone is hastily returned to his pocket. “Oh, you don’t want to know. I’ll just put June of last year.”

He reads the next question, “Type of birth control? Never thought to use it.” he writes.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale groans.

“Well, we didn’t,” he says as if innocent of any mischief. “Are you happy with this method of birth control, dove?” this is asked mockingly.

‘I love you, but do not like you right now.’ “I am happy we are pregnant, yes,” he answers curtly.

“Yes,” Crowley says seriously as he writes. “Are you currently pregnant? See answer above,” he says with a sing-song tone. “On what date was the first positive pregnancy test? When did we get the letter?”

Aziraphale thinks aloud, “Well, our bonding began on the 26th. We technically received the letter on the 27th. But we didn't figure it out until we got back from Nice.”

Crowley nods, “Right 15 September it is.”

“The total number of times pregnant, including…” ‘Not reading that to you.’ He skips over the next few questions. The word miscarriage would inevitably cause his angel another emotional episode. After a while, and some rather pointed questions, he grimaces, “God, these questions.”

“What’s wrong?” Aziraphale looks at the clipboard, which is hastily turned away.

“Nothing! Glad I am the one filling this out,” he says hoping Aziraphale didn’t see. Crowley quickly moves onto a section he could read aloud. “How’s your health in general?”

“I feel awful.” Aziraphale groans thinking about their miserable morning.

Crowley selects Good. His angel might be suffering from pregnancy symptoms, but from what he understood, they were all normal. “You don’t smoke. Used to drink alcohol. Is very upset we can’t anymore.” he informs the paper.

Aziraphale’s eyes look to Crowley pitifully. “I said I don’t mind if you do.” 'Please don't deny yourself over this.'

“I am joking, dove,” he reassures. “Doesn’t do drugs. Psychological?” he turns, knowing he better not remark.

Aziraphale pouts, “I am a mess. Maybe they can do something about it.”

Crowley speaks aloud as he writes, “Crys often, since conceiving our hellspawn.”

Aziraphale gasps, “Crowley, don’t you dare.”

“Too late,” he smirks. ‘Doctor ought to get a kick out of that one.’ “No illnesses, or hospitalisations. Any allergies?” he asks his visibly flustered angel.

“You know I don’t” he mutters.

Crowley shrugs, “Just checking.”

“Last mammogram? We'll just put a year ago. Seems to be about right for these types of things. No lumps. Discharge?” an eyebrow raises.

“No.” Aziraphale whines. ‘I am never letting you fill out any paperwork ever again.’

“Pain? Yes.” he writes.

All frustration falls away at the thought of all the wonderful things his husband does for him. He places a hand on Crowley’s forearm to get his attention, “I do appreciate you helping with that, dearest.” 'And all the other kindnesses I will never be able to repay.'

Crowley sees the affectionate look his angel is giving him.“Trust me, angel, it is my pleasure.” He takes Aziraphale’s hand and kisses his angel’s knuckles. “Marital status?” he asks brightly.

“Blissfully married to the most wonderful creature in existence.” Aziraphale intones.

“I am putting that down,” he says with a smile.

“Sexual orientation? Depends on the day.” He writes beside the two inapplicable options.

“I think they would expect it to say heterosexual.” Aziraphale whispers.

“That is for humans,” he smirks. Questions all answered, to his satisfaction, he hands the clipboard to Aziraphale. “Here. Sign.”

“What did you put my name as?” He asks, flipping through the pages.

“Aziraphale Z. Crowley. You can change it to Fell if you want.” Crowley answers. ‘Should have asked.’

“No. It isn’t really a last name.” ‘I like being Mrs Crowley.’

Crowley smiles at the acceptance Aziraphale gave his name. He kisses his angel’s temple. Once all the papers are signed, he returns the forms to the little receptionist.

Crowley has only enough time to return to Aziraphale when a door swings open. “Mrs Crowley?” came a raspy low woman’s voice. Crowley turned to see a middle-aged nurse standing in the doorway, clipboard in hand. Her wavey brown hair pulled into a ponytail.

Aziraphale stood tentatively. Hands wringing. “That would be me.”

“Come on then Ma’am. You’re already ten minutes tardy.” she scolds.

Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hand with a little squeeze. He guides them to the waiting nurse.

“You must be the father then?” she says, looking him over.

Aziraphale smiles brightly at Crowley. “Yes, my husband.” ‘It is so wonderful to be able to say that.’

She cuts Crowley an appraising scowl “You sure you don’t want to wait out here?”

‘This woman has some nerve.’ “I’m not letting my wife do this alone,” he says containing his annoyance.

“Right answer,” she says in cavalier approval. “You’ve got yourself a good one. This way.” waving them in, she leads them to a scale and takes Aziraphale’s weight, scribbling it down. She then escorts them to the exam room. “On the bed, dear. You.” she points to Crowley. “The chair, there.”

Crowley walks to the identified chair on the other side of the bed and sits, cursing the nurse under his breath. Aziraphale wiggles onto the bed, giving Crowley a pleading pout.

The nurse doesn’t miss the exchange but makes no comment. She takes Aziraphale’s vitals and completes her assessment.

The door opens, and a middle-aged blonde enters in a white lab coat. “Hello” she smiles at the pair. “I am Dr Frances.” she shakes both of their hands. “So, according to your paperwork, you are expecting your very first bundle of joy.”

Aziraphale beams at the doctor. “Yes, we are very excited.”

“Congratulations.” She smiles, going to the sink to wash her hands. “So no previous history of pregnancy, no family history of complications?”

“No Ma’am. Fit as a fiddle.” Aziraphale says jovially.

She takes a paper towel, drying her hands as she looks to the spouse. “What about you, Mr Crowley? Any family history of genetic defects?”

‘So to speak.’ “I...well.” He knew he didn’t have to tell the human, but it had been eating at him privately since they found out they were expecting. “I have an eye condition,” he says, hanging his head.

“Such as?” Asks Dr Frances formally.

Crowley removes his glasses and looks up at the human. She doesn’t look away or appear unnerved. Instead, she walks over and takes a closer look.

“Chorio-retinal coloboma. It isn’t typically inheritable. Not unless you are both carriers.” she informs as if snake eyes were common as rain in London. “Beautiful colour.”

Crowley blinks up at her, then to Aziraphale. He considers putting his glasses back on. Yet, for the first time since humans existed, he didn’t feel he needed to.

Dr Frances looks at Aziraphale. “Number of sexual partners?”

“Just the one.” Aziraphale blushes.

“How long have you two been married?” This she asked of Crowley.

“August 26.” He says taking Aziraphale’s hand, finger rubbing his angel’s ring.

“That should be close to the conception date. Wedding night babies are supposed to be good luck,” she says. “How is your pregnancy going so far? Any bleeding or severe pain?” She turns again to apply gloves.

“No. I am nauseous, exhausted, and crying over everything. My husband is infinitely patient. My breasts are sore. Recently every muscle in my body has decided to make themselves known.” Aziraphale says with a pout.

“Frequent urination?” Dr Frances asks.

“Ah…” Aziraphale looks at Crowley. “No.”

“Constipation?” she sits on a rolling stool near the bed.

“No,” Aziraphale says, thankful he doesn’t have to worry about those two symptoms at least.

“Are you able to keep food down?” Dr Frances scoots closer.

“Yes. Thankfully. My husband has been very accommodating. He makes sure I eat and drink properly.” he squeezes Crowley's hand. 'I appreciate you so much.'

“Good man.” Dr Frances says, smiling to Crowley. “Now if my math is correct, you should be about seven weeks. We should be able to get a peek at your little one with an intravaginal ultrasound.” She informs pulling a machine to her side.

Aziraphale looks at Crowley in excitement. Missing completely the specific type of procedure offered. “Yes. We would like that.”

Dr Frances nods taking a long cylindrical wand from the side of the machine.“Our tech is out sick today. So I guess I get to do the honours.” She looks to the nurse, “Agnes, can you get the lights, please. Mrs Crowley, you were smart to wear a dress. If you could please remove your underwear and lay on the bed, Agnes will help you with the stirrups, and I need you as far to the edge as you can get.” she proceeds to apply a guard and lubricant.

Aziraphale is suddenly aware of what the woman intends to do. A look of horror is shot to his husband.

Crowley sees his angel’s apprehension and tightens his grip on Aziraphale’s hand. “You don’t have to do this if you are uncomfortable.”

Aziraphale turns to the doctor with pleading eyes. “Isn’t there an external option?”

“Yes, but you're only seven weeks. We might not get a clear picture,” she says casually.

“Oh...well…” Aziraphale looks at the apparatus. ‘I need to know if they are alright.’

Crowley knew this was a possibility when they decided to seek medical attention. Seeing his angel in distress, however, was another thing entirely. “You don’t have to. We can wait.”

Aziraphale looks to Crowley. “I have to make sure.”

“Then I’ll be right here.” he grips his angel’s hand with both of his. “If you want to stop just say the word and it stops.” he cuts the doctor a look that indicates she has no control of this situation.

“It’s not all that bad.” She says, focusing on the mother to be. “Some women complain of discomfort. But most just don’t like how invasive it is.”

Aziraphale nods “Alright.” taking a deep breath to calm himself before standing and removing his undergarments. 'I can do this. Nothing too it.' He climbs back on to the table and lays down. The nurse drapes a thin sheet over his lap. The stirrups are jerked into position, and Aziraphale’s legs are guided into place. He gulps, feeling very exposed.

Nurse Agnes puts her hands under each hip and with a firm yank pulls Aziraphale down to the edge of the bed. Which causes a yelp of surprise.

“Hey, steady on,” Crowley warns the woman, who doesn’t seem to care.

Dr Frances moves the chair between Aziraphale’s legs. Agnes assisting by moving the machine within arm’s length of the doctor. “Alright, Mrs Crowley. I am going to spread your labia and insert the probe. Just breathe and try to relax. It will feel cold, that’s just the lubricant.”

Aziraphale looks to Crowley taking his hand. Crowley kisses his angel’s knuckles and doesn’t look away. ‘I am right here. Say the word, and this ends.’

“Ready.” asks the doctor.

Aziraphale nods, “Yes.” 'God, preserve me.'

“Alright, when I reach your cervix, you will feel some pressure,” she says, focusing on her task.

Aziraphale's breath catches as he feels her touch him. She does as she said, hand spreading him open, the cold, dull press of the instrument at his entrance. He feels it slide in, moving slowly until it reaches the end of the canal. It isn’t painful, just rather revolting.

As the probe is pressed against his cervix and rotated, he flinches. It causes some more than noticeable discomfort. As the doctor presses further Aziraphale tightens his grip on Crowley’s hand.

“Are you alright, dove?” Crowley is ready to pounce on the woman at the smallest of objections to the procedure. Aziraphale looks on the verge of saying something when the doctor breaks the silence.

“There you are,” she says with a smile.

They both stop; everything stops. The discomfort, their worries, possibly the world outside. They look to the monitor and there on the screen is a little smudge inside a dark void. Neither of them is even able to pretend to breathe.

The doctor makes a few clicks on the machine and turns to the awestruck parents. “There is your baby.” she points to the little smudge.

Crowley’s serpent eyes are transfixed. Not a thought crosses his mind besides the doctor’s words. ‘There is your baby. Baby.’ Aziraphale smiles at him and begins to cry. Hearing his angel’s slight gasping breaths, he looks to Aziraphale in profound admiration. “That’s our kid.”

“That is your baby. Now let's see.” She agrees, seeing the pair are paying her no mind. A few more clicks on the machine, a slight adjustment to the probe and the room is filled with a choppy whirring sound. On the screen is a pulsing line indicating the baby’s heartbeat.

“Dearest.” Aziraphale gasps. Pulling Crowley’s hand to his heart.

Crowley can’t move, can’t think. His heart is overflowing with love, excitment, and appreciation. Tears he never felt coming flow unimpeded down his cheeks. His existence before this moment seems unreal. Like it was all just a terrible dream he was suddenly waking from. Nothing matters beyond his angel and their child.

“The yoke sack looks great. The gestational sack is perfect.” a few more clicks. “Yes, you are seven weeks pregnant. Congratulations again, Mr and Mrs Crowley.” Says Dr Frances sliding the instrument free. She quickly cleans Aziraphale up and goes to remove her gloves and wash her hands.

“We’ll do a full blood panel and urinalysis to be on the safe side. See you two back in a month. Agnes will handle the rest and get you a print of your sonogram.” She informs Aziraphale, seeing the woman's husband is not currently of this world.

“Thank you, doctor.” Aziraphale smiles. He is relieved, excited, and so very much in love with their child and their father.

“I want you on prenatal vitamins immediately. It should help with some of your symptoms. But everything looks great.” She says as Agnes helps Aziraphale out of the stirrups. “He might need a moment.” pointing to Crowley who is still in shock, or something quite near to it. Leaving the room, she closes the door gently behind her.

“If he faints, I have salts.” quips nurse Agnes.

“I think Dr Frances is right. We just need a moment.” Aziraphale says sitting up patting Crowley’s trembling hand.

“I need to draw some blood and collect some urine from you. But I can go get you set up with your next appointment first. Any prefered time?” she offers.

“No at your convenience. Thank you.” Aziraphale smiles politely. The nurse marches from the room.

Turning to his husband, Aziraphale brushes his hand over wet cheek. “Crowley, dearest, are you alright?”

Crowley looks to Aziraphale still awestruck. His angel smiles and presses a kiss to his lips. Something in him snaps into awareness. He surges forward nearly toppling them to the floor. “Thank you,” he says between heated kisses. “Thank you.” pulling Aziraphale into his lap. “Thank you.” hands grasping, tangling in hair, kissing all the while. “I knew they were real. I felt them.” He kisses, unable to get close enough, though they are pressed tightly together. “But…” His mouth seeking every inch of exposed skin.

“I know.” Aziraphale gasps under the onslaught.

“Thank you, Aziraphale.” he looks back at the screen. Serpent eyes wide, still shedding tears.

“I am happy we came today,” Aziraphale says, committing his husband’s face to memory. ‘I am so glad you are happy. I am so glad you got to experience this.’

“Me too.” He says hugging his angel tightly, burying his eyes in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. “We are coming back, yeah?” ‘Please say we are coming back.’

“Of course,” Aziraphale assures smoothing his fingers through Crowley’s crimson hair. ‘Soft sweet demon.’

“Thank you, Aziraphale.” his words muffled by the dress.

“I didn’t do it alone, dearest,” Aziraphale says kissing his husband’s temple.

“Thank you for choosing me.” this was said as he dissolves into sobbing heaves.

‘Oh, my dearest beloved. That you think you have to thank me.” “There could never have been anyone else.” Aziraphale holds Crowley and rocks them until his crying subsides. “Dearest, I need to put my underthings back on.”

Crowley releases his hold and Aziraphale gives him one last kiss before standing. He is reluctant to leave his husband in such a state, but he was sure the office was getting ready to close. And humans can only be expected to have so much patience. He redresses and sits back on Crowley’s knee. He needed to be close to his husband, as Crowley also appears to need.

Agnes returns a moment later with a picture and an appointment card. She quietly draws the necessary blood and shows Aziraphale to the bathroom for the urine specimen, which was miraculously produced.

Once everything is in order, and Crowley is clutching their baby’s first sonogram they leave. Both angel and demon were floating on air, wings unnecessary. Crowley drives them home. Funny How Love Is by Queen playing happily in the background.

Before exiting the Bentley Crowley takes a picture of the two of them, sonogram held in between. He sends it to Anathema with the caption “Our little miracle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	17. Joy of Our Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of fluff, smut, and wing grooming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the ridiculous delay. Life happens, just when you least suspect.

Monday, 30 September 2019

6:15 pm

Soho 

Anathema’s response was almost instantaneous, _“Congratulations on your little bean!”_

Crowley smiles down on his phone. He was glad they had at least one person, beyond themselves, to be happy for them. _“More of a blueberry to my understanding,”_ Crowley responds, guiding his angel into their bookshop.

Aziraphale glances over his shoulder at his suddenly occupied husband. “Is that Anathema dearest?” He couldn’t help but kiss that proud smile on his demon’s lips.

Crowley smiles all the more. “Yeah, congratulating us on our bean.”

“Bean?” was questioned of his husband with a quizzical look.

“Our baby.” Crowley dropped to one knee, smoothing his hand over Aziraphale’s middle. ‘I saw you. You are real. I can’t wait to hold you.”

Aziraphale nearly melts as a tender kiss is pressed to his stomach. “Why did she call them a…” The sonogram was held up for his inspection. Their baby was currently very much a little grey bean in the picture. “Oh, they do look a bit like a bean.” ‘I haven’t even met you yet, and my heart feels like it's about to burst.’

Another buzz of Crowley’s cellphone drew his attention away from Aziraphale._ “How was the doctor? Everything go well?”_ asked Anathema.

Crowley quickly stood and texting the witch back, _“Yup said everything looks great. We're due back in a month.”_ Aziraphale was trying to peek at the phone. “Just wanting to know how the appointment went.”

Aziraphale nods. He had recently finished reading through the prophecies, for the fifteenth time. They were clearer, now that he knew that the miracle Agnes was referring too was their child. However, several prophecies still alluded his understanding. ‘Anathema specifically asked I not trouble her with the prophecies. But if I were to keep my questions on Agnes alone, perhaps I might piece together this riddle.’ “Will you send a textual message to the young lady and ask if I might call upon her. I have some questions about Agnes specifically. I will not bring up any prophecies.” he assures, mostly himself.

Crowley nods, he was beginning to like the witch. She was clever and kind. Two virtues that didn’t always walk together. _“Aziraphale wants to come to see you. Says you two won’t talk about the prophecies, just needs more information about Agnes.”_

_“We are in Malibu seeing my mom. Poor Newt.”_ Came the response almost as quickly as the first.

_“Need some demonic intervention?”_ Crowley offers. ‘Glad both our sides are out of the picture.’

_“No. Thank you. Mom wasn’t happy about the manuscript.”_ This response was somehow faster. Crowley had to smirk at the apparent discomfort his offer of an intervention must have caused.

“They are in Malibu California,” Crowley informs Aziraphale who has disappeared to the backroom to make cocoa.

“In the United States? Whatever for?” he calls out to his husband.

“Visiting her mum,” Crowley says from the entrance to the back room.

“Oh, that is nice of her. Is she coming back?” ‘To have one’s child across the world. Perish the thought.’ his hand slips to his stomach. ‘I hope you never venture too far from home.’

Crowley doesn’t miss the little furrow of Aziraphale’s brow. 'I will drag her back myself if you ask it.’ _“Aziraphale asks when/if you will be back?”_

_“Next Friday.”_ came the response. Crowley gave the phone a considered glare. ‘You better had.’

“She’ll be back next Friday,” he says, imparting a bit of the devil’s luck on their swift and easy return.

Aziraphale hands Crowley a steaming cup of strong black coffee. ‘I will never understand how you tolerate that stuff.’ “Would she be agreeable to meeting for lunch?” he asks, taking a sip of his cocoa. His stomach seems amenable at the moment. ‘Might as well make the most of it.’

Crowley types _“Wants to know if you can meet for lunch, or tea, or whatever?”_

_“Yeah, we can do lunch,”_ Anathema returns.

“She says lunch is good.” He says as his angel leads them to their flat.

“Oh, excellent.” Aziraphale beams back at his demon, a couple of steps ahead. ‘She is such a lovely young woman.’

_“Aziraphale says thanks.”_ Crowley offers without needing to be instructed to be polite. He was currently in no mood to be an ass.

_“No problem. How do you guys feel about Halloween?”_ came the next text.

He huffs a laugh at the question. _“You’re welcome.”_ He replies with a knowing grin.

Crowley and his angel sit at their little dinette to finish their drinks. Part of him really wishes his was spiked, though he has resolved himself to be supportive.

_“What?”_ asked the witch.

_“You are welcome.”_ he texts back immediately.

_“Welcome for what?”_ inquires Anathema.

_“Halloween. One of my better ideas. Took a few ancient festivals, a scoop of spooky, and threw in candy for good measure. A bit of mischievous fun for the family.”_ ‘Or at least it was supposed to be. Adults ruin everything.’

_“I should be surprised, but I am not. So do you two celebrate?”_ comes her response.

_“Not really. I do like movie marathons though,”_ he answers. ‘I wonder if Aziraphale ever has. Never mentioned it."

_“Well, I am throwing a Halloween party. If you and Aziraphale want to come. At the cottage.”_ she offers.

_“I’ll ask. Costumes?”_ he looks over at his angel. Who was currently trying to make out the invisible bump. ‘Wonder what I could talk Aziraphale into?’

_“A must. Please don’t come as an angel and a demon.”_ She commands.

‘I am a bit more creative than that witch.’ “Got any other demands for someone who hasn’t even agreed to come?” he retorts.

_“Not really, but Adam and his friends are coming so no slutty costumes,”_ Anathema charges.

_“There goes my playboy bunny idea,”_ he quips with a smirk. ‘Aziraphale would look amazing in one of those get-ups.’

_“So are you coming?”_ she asks.

Crowley looks up at his angel, who was finishing the cocoa. “Anathema is having a Halloween party. You want to go?” ‘Wonder if you will be showing by then.’

Aziraphale looked up at his husband, who was waiting expectantly for his answer. “Halloween. Is that the holiday you…”

“Yes, angel. You want to go? We have to wear costumes. Anathema says we can’t be an angel or a demon. And nothing slutty.” he grumbles.

Aziraphale felt personally affronted. ‘Slutty? I am an angel for Heaven’s sake.’ “I have never been slutty.”

Crowley can’t help the smile that takes over his face. “That outfit you wore in the bastille came close.” ‘Those satin heels, silk hose, tight breeches. Positively sinful. Wish you could have kept it.’

“Crowley!” Aziraphale admonishes. ‘The outfit was a bit extravagant, but nothing so tawdry as to be called a harlot.’ he stands at the offence. Walking past his husband to their closet. Glaring his disapproval at the very idea of someone thinking him a commonplace slattern.

Crowley has to bite back a chuckle. ‘You are too easy.’ “Sorry, dove. You were very pretty.” He glances to see a coy smile quickly hidden. “Do you want to go or not?”

Aziraphale pulls the dress over his head and hangs it in the closet. ‘It might be fun.’ “I…” he turns to his husband. ‘My body is changing by the moment.’ He looks down at his breasts. Hands roaming over his middle. “If you will help me find a suitable costume.” ‘Something that won’t be too revealing.’

Crowley saw the fretting beginning to play at his angel’s features. He stood and went to Aziraphale. Taking that perfect chin between his fingers tilting his angel to look at him. ‘It was a joke.’ “Yes, dove. We’ll get you something to compliment your divine perfection.” The blush that painted his angel’s features nearly did him in. ‘Nothing can compare to your beauty.’

‘Lord, the things you say to me.’ “Thank you, my love.” he smiles at his husband prettily. Aziraphale looks down at himself before pouting once again at Crowley. “One that will be able to accommodate, should I begin showing.”

‘You subjugate me with those endless blue eyes. Never stop.’ “F’course,” he says, kissing those delicate lips. Crowley pulls himself away long enough to text Anathema _“Aziraphale says yes.”_

He pulls his half-naked angel towards their nest. If Aziraphale was tired, he was more than happy to just hold his little family and sleep. Their day may have not been perfect, but you couldn’t tell that to one single neuron in his corporeal brain. They were happy, they were in love, and they had everything they ever wanted.

Aziraphale stops them at the edge of the nest. With a snap, Crowley is in his favourite black pyjama bottoms, and he in a thin blue negligee. With an inviting smile, he pulls his husband down into the comfort of their nest. Crowley stretching out for him to take up his usual position tightly tucked into his demon’s side.

He nearly forgets about the phone still in his hand when it buzzes. _“Great! Am I coming to London next Friday? Or you coming to Tadfield?”_ Anathema inquires.

He kisses his angel’s forehead, “You want to meet in London or Tadfield?”

Aziraphale looks up at Crowley in confusion. “I thought you said she would be holding the party?”

“No, Aziraphale. You wanted to speak with the witch next Friday.” he reminds his angel.

“Oh, yes.” He smiles in embarrassment. ‘It would be nice to get out of the city for a bit. Surely Crowley would like to take the Bentley out for the day.’ “It would be lovely to go for a drive.”

“Tadfield it is.” he agreed. _“Aziraphale says we’ll come to you.”_

_“Ok. I am happy for you two. See you on the eleventh at twelve.”_ came the final text.

_“See you, Bookgirl.”_ he ends. Miracling his phone to their dinette. He shifts to his back, pulling his angel’s thigh over his lap. He could never get close enough when they cuddled. He caresses his angel’s peaceful smile. “I love you, dove.”

Aziraphale felt so safe in his husband’s loving arms. “I love you too, dearest.” He stretches up to press a kiss to Crowley’s lips. “Thank you for everything you do darling. I hope you know that I appreciate it all very much.” his eyes speaking of his sincerity.

“I know, dove.”

Friday 11 October 2019  
6:00 am

Friday finally arrives. The loving couple and their ever growing child are resting in their nest. Watching Crowley’s favourite eighties sitcom. This episode, the ageing debutant’s daughter was currently explaining to the elderly women, a birthing clinic she intended to use for her joyous day. Aziraphale found the program very endearing. Much to his husband’s astonished delight.

Becky Devereaux informs the quintet in her heavy southern accent, “They emphasize natural childbirth, in a relaxed atmosphere, with no pain killers.”

Blanche Devereaux, in turn, gives her daughter a concerned look, “Becky, I know I mentioned where babies come from. Did I ever mention where they come out?” The audience laughs in the background.

Aziraphale giggles, jostling his husband, who was resting his head on their baby's current accommodations. Fingers carding through his demon's thick ruddy hair. “I like this show. It is very amusing.”

“Yes, it is.” Crowley agrees, kissing his angel's bare stomach. “Glad you are enjoying it.” 'I'm glad we can finally share moments like this. No chaos. No demands from our former sides. Just this.'

“I especially like the sweet one. What is her name?” He stops playing in his husband's luxurious strands to think.

“Rose,” Crowley informs, pushing his head into Aziraphale's idle hand, to encourage his angel to recommence.

“Yes! Rose!" He agrees excitedly. "Though I don't believe she can speak a word of Norwegian.” once again taking up his soothing ministration.

Crowley chuckles, “That’s the point, angel.” ‘I love you. You might be a bit of a Rose.’

“Oh! Yes, I see.” he smiles down at Crowley. A bit embarrassed for not catching on to the humour.

Crowley turns his head, resting his sharp chin on his new favourite pillow, “How are you feeling today, dove?” ‘You look so much better. I hope the worst of the sickness is behind you.’

Aziraphale pushes his fingers through fiery locks one last time, before taking his husband’s face between his hands. “Most content. Rather lovely really.” He smiles, sweetly at his happy demon.

A delicate kiss is brushed against his angel’s soft tummy, “I am glad to hear it, dove. Maybe the vitamins are working.” He nestles his cheek back down onto Aziraphale.

‘I love seeing you so peaceful. I would fight for this all over again. As many times as need be, to see you this happy.’ “Yes. haven’t been the least bit nauseated this morning.” ‘Let’s hope it continues.’

“Is that so?” Crowley questions. Kissing his angel’s irresistible belly once more. ‘I hope you don’t get tired of me doing this.’

“I seem to be on the mend,” he says proudly. Eyes twinkling at the little squeeze his husband gives in acknowledgement.

“Good. I hated seeing you like that.” he frowns at the memory. ‘I didn’t like that I couldn’t help.’

‘Please don’t be upset. It would have been far worse if it weren’t for your constant care.’ “I know dearest. I hope we are past such unpleasantness.” he smiles, trying to ease his husband’s sudden melancholy. ‘You are going to be such an amazing father. I hope they have your hair.’ “You have such beautiful hair, dearest."

"Think so?" he huffs a laugh. ‘I hope our kid has your hair. Perfect little pale ringlets. I’m doomed if they have your eyes. God let them have Aziraphale’s eyes. Don’t curse our kid with mine.’ He steeled his face to keep from worrying his angel. ‘This morning is too perfect to let it sour because of my bullshit.’

"Yes, I've always admired it. When you kept it long, I thought of how lovely it would be to run my fingers through." he reminisces. ‘You are so gorgeous. I know you would hate it, but I would love our child to have your golden eyes.’ He studies those living serpent eyes. He'd always thought they were hauntingly beautiful. Another piece of the perfection that was his husband.

Crowley considers for a moment Aziraphale’s words. ‘I like my hair long. Shame the fashions of the day are so fickle. I guess the only one I am trying to impress is you.’ He closes his eyes, and all at once, his hair is flowing over his shoulders. Long thick curls perfectly coiled, down to the middle of his lean back.

Aziraphale’s eyes go wide, taking the nearest strands in hand. ‘You always try to please me.’ Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. “Oh, dearest. You didn’t have to do that. Your hair is lovely at any length. Please don’t feel like you have to change anything about yourself to appease me.” ‘I love you no matter what you wear. How you keep your hair. Or your need for grand gestures. I love you.’

‘No. No fretting.’ “I like it long as well. And It will be easier to keep with an extra pair of hands.” he says, shifting to rest on his elbow. Pulling a thick section around for his own consideration.

Aziraphale takes his husband’s hand “Oh, dearest. It will be my honour to help you maintain your lovely hair.”

Crowley riggles up to hover over his angel. The night of their bonding playing in his mind. “Speaking of maintenance, dove. When was the last time you did anything with your wings?” This was asked as he brushes his own fingers through Aziraphale's curls.

“My wings?" He thinks. For the life of him, he can't remember. 'We have been so busy since…' "Well...Good Lord, before the apocalypse. Before...Well. It has been some time.” he says afraid to even consider the level of disarray they are in. 'I can't let you see them in such a state. I'll have to find a moment to properly tend to them.'

His angel's lack of a definitive answer told him all he needed to know. Aziraphale's shop may be chaotic if you were being polite, but he's always kept his physical appearance more than presentable. “That won’t do. Give us your wings.” Crowley said, sitting up miracling a small grooming kit into their nest.

Aziraphale sat up suddenly, snatching up the grooming kit. 'No, this won't do. Oh, they are sure to look dreadful.' “Crowley, I am quite capable of tending to my own wings.” he is about to stand and retreat into the bathroom when Crowley takes his forearm. Aziraphale is stunned immobile by the pleading look his husband is levelling him.

“I know you are more than capable of doing it yourself," Crowley says, reaching for the kit gingerly. "But I am asking if you will trust me to do it.” 'Please let me do this.' He caresses his angel's arm with his thumb.

'Oh. That's not sporting. You never ask for anything. Then when you do, it's a kindness for me.' Aziraphale tightens his grip on the small box. "I-I...Crowley... I'm sure they are a mess. And I don't… it's… it isn't seemly to allow one's wings to fall into such an unkempt state." 'Please let me do it.' His own eyes pleading back with his husband.

‘Your eyes will not save you this time. I am going to see too your wings.’ "That's my point, dove. I want to help. Listen, I am good at wing grooming. Won’t take me long at all.” he assures, still holding tight to his angel's arm.

‘I won’t deny you. And you’ve seen me in worse states. You are very frustrating at times.’ Aziraphale angrily pouts. “Fine. But I get to reciprocate.” He demands shoulders slumping in defeat.

Crowley leans in and purrs “Deal.” low into his angel’s ear. This earns him a delicious throbbing pulse of desire. “Now quit fussssing and give me your wingssss.” he hisses in a way he knows will send pleasant shivers to Aziraphale’s core.

He sighs again, before turning so his back is facing his husband. Still clutching the box, Aziraphale settles into a comfortable sitting position in their nest. Nightgown straps pulled out of the way. He calls his wings into this world. Part of him is waiting for a snide comment on their appearance. Or at least a half-hearted quip, but nothing happens.

Crowley is lost for a moment, a long moment. Yes, his angel’s wings are in desperate need for a good preening, but they are still magnificent. Pearly white with a faint iridescence to the primaries. Crowley is sure once they are properly groomed they will be all the more lustrous. ‘I wish you would show me these more. They are so stunning.’

“I need the kit, dove,” he says reaching forward skimming his nails between the two alabaster wings. Aziraphale moans at the relaxing touch, muscles almost instantly relaxing. The kit was set down in the nest. “Thank you, dove.” Crowley takes the kit and places it in his lap. Fingers returning to his angel, massaging the muscles that connect human body to angelic wings. This earns him another gratifying moan. “Now, lay on your stomach. This will be far more comfortable that way. Can you do that for me, dove?” He purrs again.

Aziraphale couldn’t refuse. The tender sedating caresses strip him of all thought beyond his husband’s touch. ‘God, that feels divine.’ The nest seems to virtually pull him down as he complies. Warm hands encouraging him to relax and luxuriate in the attention.

“Thank you, dove.” Crowley purrs, coming to kneel beside Aziraphale’s right wing. From the kit, he takes a bottle of oil. He coats his hands and begins working it into the coverts nearest the scapula. Fingers massaging to the skin, checking for pin feathers as he goes. The soft, breathy moans are the only indication his angel is still awake.

When he finishes with that section, he takes the polishing brush from the box. The bristles are dense and soft. This he brushes over the treated feathers making sure any excess oil is evenly distributed. The first glide over Aziraphale’s feathers causes his angel to shiver. Each successive moan is accompanied by the blooming waves of desire.

“Crowley. Is...you are v-very good at this.” Aziraphale manages to groan.

“I am glad you are enjoying this, dove,” he smirks. ‘More than enjoying.’ he begins working on straightening and oiling the secondaries. Finding one pin feather and freeing it from the casing. He works an extra portion of oil into the cuticle. A higher pitch moan, his reward.

By the time he finishes straightening the primaries, his angel is slightly trembling. Pleasure reverberating into Crowley with an intoxicating mix of urgency and relief. “How are you doing, dove?” is asked in a deep sensual tone.

“I-I...Crowley…I…” Aziraphale tries and fails to express the maddening bliss he is currently experiencing.

“Is it too much, dove? Do you need me to stop?” he asks, anticipating the answer.

Aziraphale shakes his head furiously. ‘Don’t you dare stop. I want…” “Keep going. P-please, d-dear-rest” he keens.

‘That good, huh?’ “I still have your coverts to finish. And a whole n’other wings on the other side.” this is whispered into his angel’s ear. The desperate whimper is answered with a kiss to the exposed neck, finishing with a tantalizing nip. ‘If this is the response I get we are doing this once a week.’

He works his way up through each layer of coverts. Providing each feather with his absolute care. Once he finishes the alula Crowley begins massaging the muscles hidden beneath the down. Working the oil into the skin. The sounds his angel was making were positively sinful. His own aching need now echoing Aziraphale’s.

Satisfied with his work, he moves to the next wing. This side receives the same diligent, focused attention. All the while, his angel is moaning his praises. He finishes by kneading the muscles between the scapula; raking nails interspersed with the soothing caress. Both wings are now luminous with pastel iridescence. “How are you feeling now, dove?” he asks already aware of the pulsing relaxation coming from his angel.

“Positively, incandescently euphoric.” Aziraphale manages to express after several composing breaths.

Crowley runs his hands over his angel’s satin enshrouded sides. “Glad I can be of service,” he says, gripping Aziraphale’s sumptuous hips. ‘Anytime, dove.’

There is a sudden movement. White fluttering, shifting, then he is pinned. Before his mind could catch up to the unexpected turn of events, he feels hands roving over his bare shoulders. His own face buried in their nest.

“You take such good care of us, dearest.” A kiss claims the base of his husband’s neck. Aziraphale sits up, firmly seated on Crowley’s hips, securing his demon in place. “And now you are going to let me take care of you.”

‘This is new.’ “What did you have in mind?” he resigns himself to his angel’s command.

“Wings.” Aziraphale instructions, nails feather light down Crowley’s sides. Jet black opalescent wings unfurled in their full majesty. Greens, blues, and purples shimmering in the sheen of each feather. “Crowley” Aziraphale breathes in awe. “They are perfection. There isn’t a feather out of place,” he says, running a finger worshipfully over a particularly beautiful primary.

“Sorry, dove. Demons are vain. Did it one night last week while you were busy with Agnes. Doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy a bit of a massage.”

“But Crowley I…” he is near to whining. ‘This will not do. This is something I can do for you, and I will not hear no for an answer’ “From now on, dearest husband, I will be doing this for you.” this is said resolutely, with no room for dissent.

Crowley brings his arms up to rest his head in the crook of his elbow. “You’ll get no arguments from me, dove. Weekly groomings?” he offers with a sly smirk.

“Agreed,” Aziraphale confirms. His exquisite demon may not need the meticulous attention his own wings received, but Aziraphale was resolute to give no less than Crowley had so assiduously afforded him. Each feather is seen to, oil worked into each muscle, every cuticle. His ministrations indefatigable until Crowley was groaning his own pleasure beneath him. Wings shining like polished marble in vibrant, lustrous hues. ‘I hope you see your wings as the blessings they are.’

“All done?” Crowley asks lazily. Peering at his wings. ‘Shit. That was amazing.’

“Not just yet,” Aziraphale says rising a bit off of Crowley’s. “Could you reorient yourself onto your back, dearest?”

Crowley shifts to his back beneath his angel, cautious of both their wings. Aziraphale sinks once again onto him. Soft hands resting on his abdomen for stability as his angel slides against his evident arousal. His own hands encouragingly gripping his angel’s hips. ‘I am yours. Always yours.’

“I am so lucky to have you, my love,” Aziraphale says feeling Crowley’s effort answering to his intent. “All these years, I have been so fortunate to have you by my side.” He leans down, claiming his husband’s mouth with his own. Kisses focused and emphatic, hips never pausing. Groans of passion urging for more.

Crowley pushes the cascades of ringlets away from his angel’s face, as Aziraphale rises back up. “Luck had absolutely nothing to do with it, dove.” Dove fell from him in a low growl. “You have a gravity that I can never escape.” he cups his angel’s cheeks, “That I never want to escape from, Aziraphale. I am forever drawn to you.” Crowley smiles up at those peerless blue eyes. “You are my northern star, dove. My refuge from all storms.”

“Flatterer.” Aziraphale descends once again into frenzied kisses. Hands entwining into newly grown crimson locks.

“Honesty.” Crowley manages to answer between his angel’s demanding onslaught.

“And you, my husband.” he breathes between them. “Are my safe harbour” Aziraphale descends to Crowley’s neck. Mouth tasting “my shield against the horrors of this world and the next.” Lips dancing over his husband’s chest. “my everlasting counterpoint.” Teeth grazing against his demon’s nipple. “The father of our child” Mouth claiming, tongue gliding down Crowley’s taut stomach. “And the most beautiful soul I have ever met.” Aziraphale lightly brushes his lips at the waistband of his husband’s pyjamas. “May I, dearest?” he stares up seductively at Crowley.

“Ye…” Aziraphale bites down, sucking, tongue soothing the sting. “Fu...uhng. Aziraphale.” his angel’s name is a whispered benediction on his lips.

“Yes, dearest?” he pulls the drawstring of his husband’s pants. There is no meaningful reply just a chorus of moans as kisses trace the trail of receding clothing. There is only a moments pause before Aziraphle takes Crowley’s aching effort in hand and begins to stroke.

Crowley isn’t sure if Aziraphale has become confident after there many previous lovemaking sessions, or if this is a fun side effect of the pregnancy. But at this moment he doesn’t care. His angel is deftly guiding him to the height of pleasure. Hand slick and warm pulsing, wrist adding a delicious twisting motion. All the muscles in his body tensing as he nears his release.

It is suddenly there ripping through him, spilling onto his angel’s hand. Instead of allowing him a moment to collect himself, Aziraphale takes him fully into his mouth. Crowley is helpless but to arch into the sudden heat of his angel’s mouth. Tongue lapping up his shaft, one moment. Then focus applied to velvety head, before finding himself buried in the warm depths of Aziraphale’s throat. ‘When the hell? Fuck’ Another orgasm is wrenched from him. He doesn’t even realize his hands are tangled in his angel’s hair until Aziraphale is moving up to him once more.

“Az...an...dove?” he stammers, as he quakes under the throws of the climax.

“Yes, my love,” he asks as he straddles Crowley’s effort, moving his panties aside.

“What?...shiii...fuck.” he groans as he is enveloped in Aziraphale’s folds.

“I am making love to my beautiful…” His hips coming to rest flush to his husband’s body. “Loving…” Aziraphale rises, then sinks back down. “Supportive.” he moans as his undulation drives Crowley deeper. “Seductive husband.” is sighed as his head falls back. “And I will see him thoroughly satisfied.” Aziraphale sets a slow commanding pace.

Crowley already over-sensitive, not allowed to fully come down from his last two climaxes, finds himself nearly lost to the world. As yet another orgasm claims him. He is keening, hands tearing at their nest. Chest heaving as his angel doesn’t relent. He hears Aziraphale’s voice faintly through the haze of ecstasy. He focuses willing himself to make out the words.

“Is it too much, my love?” Aziraphale moans, his own release demanding him to surrender. ‘Not yet.’

Crowley answers by thrusting up to meet his angel. This earns him a surprised gasp. ‘I want to hear you. Please let me hear you.’

Aziraphale bites his lip, determined to outlast to his intended purpose. Brows furrowed, hands gripping Crowley’s sides for support, he redoubles his efforts. He hears his husband gasping again, feels his muscles contract, then another hot spending is released inside of him.

The focus to remain in control is quickly failing. His eyes prickle with tears as he denies his bodies urgent demands. ‘Not yet damn you.’ He steels himself. Finds the will to push on, sending his essence into his writhing demon. The shock of their essences uniting sends his love over the edge once more. He can hear his husband’s euphoric singing. ‘You are so glorious, my love.’ is his answering song.

Crowley feels Aziraphale quickly pulling away from his essence. His own rushes back into his quivering body. He forces himself to open his eyes. Aziraphale is there, still trying to drive him to another conclusion, but his pace is shaky. Stopping for a few breaths before continuing again. He sees the pained focus of his features. ‘Why are you denying yourself?”

Crowley forcefully composes himself and sits up. Grabbing Aziraphale to halt his angel’s movement. “Aziraphale? What are you doing?” he demands.

“I wanted this to be for you.” he explains, tears falling from his eyes.

“Oh, I will have none of that.” Crowley shifts them, pinning his angel to their nest. The pace he sets speaks of his determination. Aziraphale is instantly lost. Barbs of pleasure, screaming into Crowley’s essence. He sees Aziraphale trying to mouth something, but his voice is stifled in his straining throat. “What is it, dove? Tell me what you need,” he growls low in his chest. His thrusts are unrelenting.

“T-turn... me over.” struggles from his lips. “I-I want…”

Crowley does, sliding free and quickly changing their position. Aziraphale is unable to bear up, on angelic arms. So Crowley holds their bodies together, hands clutching firm as he slides back into his angel’s welcoming heat. “Like this, dove?” Aziraphale is only able to nod. “I want you to look at me. Can you do that, dove?” he asks. Returning to his rapid thrusts.

Aziraphale turns his head, though his eyes remain closed. He is gasping, crying between desperate moans. Crowley feels it, the peak nearing for his angel as he propels them both to the summit. His angel falls apart in his arms. In heaving gasps, and sobbing moans his angel’s effort constricts in pulses around him.

He follows closing behind. Spilling one last time into his convulsing angel. He holds Aziraphale until they both descend into awareness. “Are you alright, dove?” ‘What the hell was all that?’

Aziraphale’s eyes open slightly, “Yes, my love. That was…” he nearly faints.

Crowley feels his angel’s body go lax. He lowers them to their nest and holds Aziraphale close. His angel hums softly as he pulls them together. “Angel, are you with me?”

“Yes, dearest. Just a bit tired.” he smiles up at his husband’s concerned face.

“Rest. I’ll call Anathema and tell her you don’t feel up to meeting today,” he says, pulling a blanket over them both.

“Don’t you dare. I just...oh I need a moment.” he sighs snuggling into Crowley with a whistful contented smile.

‘You and I are going to talk about this later.’ “Fine. Perhaps a shower?”

“What would you say to crepes,” Aziraphale asks drowsily.

‘“I would say if I were a human I would be damn near dead right about now.” Crowley jokes kissing his blissful angel.

Aziraphale’s eyes go wide, “Oh, Crowley. Was it too much? I am sorry if I-I...”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley scolds.

“Sorry, dearest. Remember, I am the fussy angel.” He says, cuddling closer.

“Yes. We can get crepes.” he laughs. ‘You are so damn adorable. It really isn’t fair.” Tilting his angel’s chin to look at him. “We should get ready. You have a date.”

That caught his attention. He looks at Crowley in pure terror, “A date. Crowley, I would never…”

“With Anathema.” he sighs. ‘How gone are you?’

Realizations struck him. “OH! I nearly forgot.” ‘I’ve been doing that a lot recently.’ “I fear I may be becoming very forgetful.” he sighs.

Crowley chuckles, “They call that pregnancy brain, dove.” he hugs his angel tight.

“Well, I will take it over the nausea any day. I will just have to write everything down.” he muses.

“Alright shower time,” Crowley says, patting his angel’s buttock.

In their spacious shower Aziraphale it's grinning for ear to ear. “You know, dearest, I love moments like this." He informs massaging conditioner into his husband's hair.

“What naked in the shower?” Crowley jokes turning to kiss his angel's nose.

“No. Physical intimacy is ever so wonderful. But moments like this." He beams up at his demon. "Casual intimacy. Just sharing our lives. I do so love that we have this.”

“Me too, dove." Crowley agrees, turning his angel to return the favor. 'Who would have ever thought we could have this?'


	18. Fear Not For I Am With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, cuddles and more. 
> 
> (Tissue warning.)

Friday 11 October 2019  
12:00 pm   
Tadfield. 

The trip out to Tadfield was pleasant. Autumn was painted across the English countryside in flaming glory. The air was perfectly crisp as they neared the picturesque little village. Antonio Lucio Vivaldi’s You and I playing faintly for the little family. 

Crowley parked in the drive of Jasmine Cottage. They were welcomed by Newt, who was carrying boxes into the house. “Good afternoon. Anathema is inside.”

“Good afternoon Newton.” Aziraphale smiles at the awkward young man, who nearly drops his items. “Might I assist you?” he offers, noticing even more boxes in the old blue car. 

“But, you are pregnant,” he says in shock at the offer. 

‘Aren’t you a gentleman.’ Aziraphale is amused at the human’s concern. He tuts, his nose in the air cutting Newt a confident smile. “That I am, but I am not an invalid. Where would you like these?” he offers the boy again.

“Um...up-upstairs. You really shouldn’t” Newton stutters in apprehension. He knows they are not human, but the thought of a pregnant woman carrying boxes upstairs is alarming at best. Though, arguing with an angel and his demonic husband isn’t something he is willing to chance. 

Aziraphale gives the young man a scolding look before snapping his fingers. All of the boxes, including the ones in Newt’s hands, disappear. ‘Tah dah.’ “There you are. Everything is upstairs.” 

“T-thank you. Um…” he isn’t sure what to think of what just happened.

“Hey!” Anathema greets the pair. Noticing her boyfriend’s terrified expression. “Nice man-bun Crowley.” she jokes. Though she had to admit privately, the half-up, long hair, suited the demon. She receives a sarcastic sneer for her mocking compliment.

"Hello, Miss Device." Aziraphale addresses the more intrepid human. 

While his angel is engaging in pleasantries, Crowley saunters up to Newt, leaning in to whisper, “Close your mouth. Or one of Beelzebub’s pets might find itself a new home.” He smirks as the boy quickly shuts his mouth. “Moving in?” he asks assessing the unnerved human, circling like a hungry shark. 

“Yes. We um…” Newt looks to Anathema happily chatting with Aziraphale who is presenting the sonogram photo. 

It is fleeting, but Crowley recognises the look the young man regards the witch with. “Good for you, kid. You don’t have eternity. Make the most of every moment.”

Newton is shocked by the demon’s advice, and the bruising pat he suffers. “Um...thank you.”

“Though for the life of me, I don’t know what she sees in you. It definitely isn’t your eloquent conversational skills.” He grins, sauntering away. 

“No bump yet?" Anathema looks over Aziraphale’s cable knit clad stomach. 

He smiles sweetly, hands brushing over where the witch is peering, "No, but Crowley has had to adjust my undergarments and pants. It seems I might be just expanding." he groans. ‘Going to look like a veritable pumpkin at this rate.’

Seeing the angel’s pout, she offers a reassuring smile, "You'll get there. You're still pretty early on."

"Eight weeks, four days." Aziraphale beams with pride, looking over to Crowley.

"Did you hear the heartbeat?" Newt asks sheepishly. 

Taking his husband’s hand, Aziraphale confirms, "Yes. We were both very excited."

Anathema flits a finger at Crowley, "He cried, didn't he?"

Crowley nearly chokes at the accusation, "Ngk! I am a demon. We don…"

Remembering his demon’s sweet display, he cuts his husband’s denial off, "He was in shock. Cried until the nurse brought our sonogram."

"Aziraphale!" Crowley nearly shrieks. His own pride the only thing keeping him from being too shrill.

Realising then that perhaps his husband might be embarrassed he turns whispering, "You did, dearest. There is absolutely nothing to be ashamed of."

Over his shoulder, he hears a triumphant laugh, "Pay up Newt." Anathema is holding out her hand for the prize.

"You two made a bet I cried?" Crowley bristles. ‘For fuck sake? Do I have cry baby demon written on my forehead? At least the little coward thought better than to bet against me.’

Anathema has grown to know the pair well enough by now. After over a month of nearly daily texts and phone calls, she knew the likely outcome. It wasn’t passing judgment on his emotions per se. It was merely humorous that this outwardly cavalier demon wasn’t as cold as he wanted the world to believe. "No, I bet you cried. Newt bet you fainted." She outed her boyfriend. Who instantly looked as if he might bolt.

"Near to it." Aziraphale chuckles mostly to himself. 

"Aziraphale!" This time Crowley is shrill. 

"Why are you ashamed? It is very endearing how affected you are by our child." Aziraphale reassures patting his husband’s hand. The flush on Crowley’s cheeks was worth the little embarrassment his husband had to endure. 

Crowley leans into his angel’s ear, "Yes, but that's private." ‘Stop telling these human’s how weak I am.’

"As you wish. But I don't see the issue." He says kissing his sweet demon’s knuckles. ‘They already know your true nature, dearest.’ "So what is for lunch? Any decent restaurants in Tadfield?" Aziraphale asks to change the topic of discussion.

A small bell chings, announcing the arrival of a group of children. Everyone turns to see Adam and The Them stop at the main gate. "There's a diner in town. They have really good hamburgers. And an ice cream shop too. Nice to see you two again." The not-antichrist informs. 

Wensleydale studies the vaguely familiar-looking blonde woman intently, "Actually, I don't believe we have met Ma'am."

Aziraphale approaches the quartet, "Hello Adam, Pepper, Wensleydale, Brian, Dog.” the last barks his greeting. “It is lovely to see you all again, as well. And Wensleydale I just look a bit different from before," he says hoping the explanation would suffice. 

Brian squints, cocking his head to the side. "So, you're a girl now?"

"Brian! You can't just go around asking someone if they are a girl, stupid." Pepper scolds harshly. Glaring at the soiled child. 

"Pardon me, but he was a man at the airbase. Now she's a female." Wensleydale announces, sure of his analysis. 

Peppers glare is turned to the smallest boy. "Shut up. That's her business. If she wants to talk about it, she would. Both of you stop being nosy."

‘Well, aren’t you the little heroine.’ "It's alright. Angel's don't have a gender. So typically I look however I choose." Aziraphale again hopes this explanation is adequate.

"So you're choosing to be female?" Pepper asks as if there were some profound feminist statement to be discerned. 

Sensing he might receive the next scolding from the young woman he carefully explains, "Not completely by choice, but I'm happy at the moment."

"I don't understand." Pepper scowls at the blonde.

‘How do I explain to eleven-year-olds the importance of a female form for childbearing?’ Aziraphale swallows against the little lump that unbiddenly nestled itself in his throat. "Well, you see…"

"I knocked Aziraphale up," Crowley calls from across the lawn. ‘Fair turn about.’

"Crowley!" Aziraphale scolds. ‘I know what you are doing, and it is uncalled for.’

"Well, I did. We're having a kid." Crowley says proudly, ignoring his angel’s scolding blue eyes. 

Aziraphale takes a few steps towards his demon to loudly whisper, "They're children. They do not need to be exposed to such vulgarity." ‘What would their parents say?’

"It’s alright, Miss. I'm happy for you." Adam says, kindly. 

‘You are such a sweet boy.’ "Thank you, Adam.” he smiles back to the former antichrist. “And thank you for the restoration of my bookshop, and Crowley’s car.”

Wensleydale interrupts, "Pardon me, but did you become a woman to have a baby? Like a clownfish?"

"Shut up, Wensleydale! " Pepper shouts at the inquisitive boy.

‘A clownfish!” "More like a hormonal angelfish." mocks Crowley. ‘These kids are great.’

‘That is unnecessary. You have made your point.’ "Crowley, will you please." Aziraphale admonishes with ever-increasing annoyance.

Brian cocks his head the other direction, "Will you have a baby, or lay an egg?”

Aziraphale sighs. ‘This is ludicrous. Between my husband and these children, I will need a strong drink. Damn it all I can’t drink!’ He turns and gives his aggravating demon a warning frown. It is answered with a mischievous grin. 

Pepper whirls on the grimy boy. "Brian! Shut up both of you. It is none of your business. Just drop it." she yells.

“Egg. I am a snake demon.” Crowley laughs his answer. 

‘It is one thing to have a laugh at my expense, but not our child.’ “Crowley, please don't joke about our child.” Aziraphale pleads. 

Crowley sees his angel’s frustration turn into discomfort. ‘Shit. Too far.’ He looks down at his snakeskin boots. ‘Shouldn’t joke about our kid.’ 

Aziraphale takes a collective breath, “I am female for the time being. My husband and I are expecting a baby. To my understanding, a normal human birth. Not an egg. If you are wondering, no, it is not common for an angel and demon to reproduce. Yes, we are delighted. And yes, Crowley cried at the first doctor’s appointment. ” ‘Take that, you fiend.’

“HA!” Crowley shouts. ‘I love you, you bastard.’ “I deserve that.”

“Sorry about them. But it’s all good, isn’t it? You two having a baby and all.” Adam takes over the increasingly awkward conversation. 

“Yes, thank you, Adam." He smiles down on the polite boy. ‘Your parents raised you well.’ 

"And that's all that matters," Adam affirms to the others. 

"Excuse me, are you coming to Miss Anathema's Halloween party. I've actually never been to one before." Wensleydale inquires. 

"That is the plan," Crowley says having come to his angel’s side. 

"Wicked. What are you going to be? I'm going as The Doctor." Adam says, excitedly.

"What kind of doctor," Aziraphale asks politely. 

"Dr Who," Adam says as though he doesn’t understand the question.

"You said you were intending on being a doctor for Halloween." Aziraphale helpfully reminds the young boy. ‘Perhaps my forgetfulness is contagious.’

"Yeah, Dr Who," answers Adam. It hadn’t occurred to him anyone living in the United Kingdom hasn’t heard of The Doctor.

‘What in Her name are you playing at?’ "Shouldn't you know?" Aziraphale asks in frustration. 

‘You are so adorably oblivious at times.’ "It's a show Aziraphale." Crowley groans. 

‘Dr Who? I’ve never heard of it on any theatre announcements.’ "I've never seen it,” he says to the former antichrist. “Is it an American production? Has it premiered at the West End theatre?" he asks, wondering if this is just another thing lost from his memory.

‘What? Not a play.” "No angel. The telly." Crowley huffs. 

"Oh!” ‘Of course. Thank Her I haven’t lost it altogether.’ “Sorry. Crowley has been acquainting me with several television programs recently. We haven't gotten to that one." he smiles to the group of children.

"You should see it. The tenth doctor is my favourite." Adam encourages. 

"Damn right." Crowley agrees. 

"I shall." ‘If I can blasted well remember to ask Crowley later.’

"Pardon me. You never said what you two were going to be." Wensleydale once again interrupts. 

"I am afraid we haven't come to a decision yet."

"I'm being Nikola Tesla. He was actually a brilliant inventor," Wensleydale announces. 

"I'm gonna be a zombie. Mum says she's going to use some of the clothes I've ruined for the costume." Brian shrugs. 

"I'm being a handmaid with a bomb jacket." Pepper declares with complete confidence. 

Aziraphale chuckles in alarm."A handmaid? W-why would a handmaid need a bomb?” 

Pepper puffs up her chest, "Because they are women oppressed under a theocratic regime. They are forced to be broodmares under some sexist ideology, that allows men to treat them like property." The scorn with which she delivers this explanation is palpable. 

"Rise up" Crowley encourages throwing his fist in the air. 

"Theocratic?" Adam asks his audacious friend. 

"They believe it's God's will women be subservient to men." she glowers at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale raises his hands defensively in front of him, "I assure you it isn't."

"This century" grouses Crowley. ‘Though I guess that should be blamed on humans.’

"Dearest, please. God doesn't want any of her children subjugated," he says, his hands nervously wringing. ‘Why do humans always impose their opinions with talk of God’s will?’

"Except to Her." Crowley reminds his angel of that fact. ‘One master above all.’ 

Though he had lost faith in Heaven, Aziraphale still held faith in Her. "I am ending this conversation." He turns towards their future hosts. "What are you two going to be Anathema? Newton?"

"Lupin and Tonks," Anathema announces for them both. 

‘Is this another television program?’ Aziraphale sighs in defeat. "I fear I am a bit lost on all these modern references."

"Oi! If I can't be a demon, you can't be a witch." he points at the accused witch fiercely.

Anathema rolls her eyes at the demon standing on her lawn. "It's a fictional character. Besides Newt picked them." she thumbs to her boyfriend.

Newt jumps at the declaration, "Why don't I make everyone some tea."

"No, thanks. We are headed to Hogback Wood. Got a renegade alien to catch." Adam informs proudly to the boring adults. 

"You kids have fun." Anathema waves. 

The four nod their goodbyes and peddle toward their sanctuary. The retired Hellhound is sitting happily in his master’s basket. 

"We will have to decline as well, Mr Pulsifer. I believe we were going to lunch." He raises an eyebrow towards Anathema.

"Yes. Let me get my coat.” She darts inside. Returning, hastily pulling her tartan coat on. 

They do decide to take their lunch at the little diner. They had all decided on the advised hamburgers. Though at this current moment, Aziraphale’s stomach was deciding quite the opposite. He felt the first real wave of nausea in days. Already familiar with the particular face, his angel was making, Crowley was up berating their absent waitress for anything cold to drink with lemon or ginger. 

Aziraphale tried to distract himself from the sickening feeling welling up within him. If he were to succumb to the urge to rid his body of the hamburger, their day would assuredly come to an end. “Miss... Anathema.” he swallowed hard. Breathing several slow breaths through his nose. “Did...your ancestor...ugh...leave any mention of contact with angels? O-or heaven?"

Anathema hadn’t seen the angel like this before. ‘No wonder Crowley thought you were dying.’ Aziraphale’s face was ashen and contorted into something between anguish and concentration. "I thought you read the book?"

"Yes... I-I mean... besides the book?" book is groaned. ‘I will never eat another hamburger again.’

"No. Did she mention something in the manuscript that she had?" She considers getting Aziraphale up and dragging the angel into the ladies room. 

"I can not say... as...as it involves the prophecies you have forbade... me to discuss." He shoved the offending plate as far away as his arms can reach. ‘Please don’t let me vomit in front of these humans.’

"I take it back for the day.” she quickly offers, “What specifically did you want to talk about?"

"There is mention... of our child, of course…” he smiles painfully. “And bits...o-of advice for the pregnancy. But...Oh, Lord…” he nearly retreats to the restroom, but the threatening wave subsides a bit. “The matter I'm most confused with is the mention of an angel... Agnes... says she has met, or-or was at least familiar with. Something... about stars and a saviour. I'm not certain." Aziraphale reaches for a napkin to wipe his brow. ‘Why does this always make me sweat? Isn’t the pain enough?’ 

"Stars?" asks Anathema. She glances over at Crowley, who looks like he might hex the old woman behind the counter. 

"Yes. The crafter... of stars... will confess.” Aziraphale’s groan is harsh enough to cause his husband to turn to look. He hears Crowley growling a threat at the woman who is nervously preparing something. “To thy miracle a-a baldachin... of night. Be.. not afraid Principality... for my sweet.. angel will be thy protection." he manages to get out. ‘God, make this nausea go away.’

"Her angel?" she asks.

They are interrupted by Crowley’s return. “Here, dove. Iced ginger tea with lemon.”

Aziraphale weakly smiles at his husband accepting the tea. He takes a tentative sip. To call it, tea was ignoring the fact that it was nearly lemonade. The first real swallow of the acidic beverage cut the nausea almost in half. “Thank you, Crowley.” He wasn’t sure if it was relief from the sickness or his demon’s devoted care, but he was now fighting back tears. 

Crowley sits down, pulling Aziraphale’s chair close to his side. “Small sips, dove.” he doesn’t care what their human companions think. He kisses his angel’s temple, running soothing strokes through his angel’s long curls. Their waitress shuffles over and places a pitcher on their table. 

“Sorry you aren’t feeling well Ma’am.” says the woman, who looks at the redhead in utter terror. “Do any of you need anything?” she asks of Newt and Anathema. When they both refused, she hurries back to the safety of the kitchen.

“So? Wha’d I miss?” Crowley says, acting as if their waitress didn’t look scared within an inch of her life.

"Oh, nothing, dearest. Anathema can't make sense of it either." he would normally discuss Crowley’s use of such tactics, but he knew none of his blusterings was genuine.

"Perhaps I should have a look. None of these seem to be directed at me." She says considering the consequences. 

"Only a few. I have not mentioned them as I respect your decision to not know." Aziraphale assures her.

"Well maybe just write down the ones you haven't yet deciphered. I'll take a look. I could send them to my mother as well."

"Thank you, Miss Device. You, as always, have been most accommodating." 

"Yeah, about accommodations. Have you decided on where you two want to have your baby?" she asks, eyes darting between them. 

Looks were exchanged, after a moment of hesitation Aziraphale answers. "We don’t have much of a choice. We aren't sure if our baby will be born with wings. If I were to deliver in hospital, it would cause a scene. It is a risk we simply cannot take. Humans have delivered children for thousands of years without medical intervention. So a home birth seems to be the safest option. Though..." he looks to Crowley. “It is not without its own perils.” ‘I know you worry about our safety. God will protect us.’

Even from behind those dark lenses, Anathema can tell the demon is worried. "My mother has offered to be your midwife. If you want."

They both turn to look at her. Relief on both their faces. "Oh, thank you, Miss Device, and thank your mother. That would be most appreciated. We would be willing to reimburse her for any inconvenience this may cause."

"Trust me she doesn't need the money," she informs.

Crowley looks from Anathema to Aziraphale then back."Where would she stay? Can't say she would appreciate the close quarters of our bookshop."

"No. I suppose you are right." Aziraphale agrees.

"Don't worry about that. She can stay with us. Or she can find a place in London." knowing her mother Anathema assumes she might just move to England to close the distance between them.

"She can have my flat. M’not using it except for storage these days." Crowley offers. 

"I'll let her know."

"Thank you again. If there is anything we can do to repay your generosity, you only need to ask." beams Aziraphale at the kindly witch. 

"Actually there is one more thing I wanted to talk to you two about."

"We are at your service."

"Well, I was wondering if we could throw you a baby shower."

"A baby shower?" Crowley asks with a grimace. 

"Yes. You get a bunch of people together. They bring presents for the mom and baby. It's a tradition." Anathema explains. 

Aziraphale smiles half-heartedly. "That sounds lovely, but I'm afraid you are the extent of our earthly acquaintances."

"What about that woman with Sergeant Shadwell?" Newt supplies. 

Aziraphale feels his husband’s muscles tense. A low, threatening growl boils in his demon’s chest. "I will not have that tosssser near Asssiraphale or our child." Crowley hisses. 

Anathema now realises that perhaps her earlier assessment may not be wholly accurate. She can practically feel the rage slithering off of the demon. "I'll think of something.” She clears her throat. “When are you due?"

"May 18th," Aziraphale says excitedly. 

"How about April?" she offers, making a mental note to tell her mother later.

"We leave it in your capable hands Miss Device." Aziraphale can't help but like this young woman. 

"We'll finalise the details when we are about a month out. Are you going to find out the gender?" she inquires. 

"We aren't certain they will have one," Crowley grumbles. 

"Another reason a home birth is necessary." agrees Aziraphale.

They conclude their lunch a short while later. Aziraphale tips their waitress handsomely for the anguish his husband caused on his behalf. Crowley delivers the humans home, relieved that he will no longer be alone to help Aziraphale through the birth. They say their farewells and start back for London. 

"They are such a sweet couple. I think Agnes might be right." Aziraphale says, looking back at the little cottage. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Oh, you'll see." He says, snuggling in for the trip home.

5:00 pm

Aziraphale does remember to ask Crowley about the Doctor. Crowley selects season 3 episode 11, which has his angel clinging to him through most of the episode. Crowley himself has seen the weeping angels enough times he can recite the dialogue from memory. So he once again has his nose buried in yet another pregnancy book. 

“Our little raspberry is growing a millimetre per day right now.”

“Are they?” Aziraphale winces, as the young couple realises the angel in the room is upon them. Clawed hands reaching, face contorted in a menacing fanged scream. ‘Why is this so scary? He’s not even a Doctor.’ “They make me feel as though I am feeding a horse.”

“Hungry?” Crowley asks, folding his book closed. 

‘Somehow. Though I might need a moment after this is over.’ “Cravings I should think.” Aziraphale all but climbs on top of his husband, as the boy turns to see the stone angel inches from him. 

Crowley laughs, holding Aziraphale close. ‘You’ve been to Hell and back, and this frightens you?’ “And what might that be?”

Aziraphale can’t look away from the screen. “Stop laughing.” ‘This is horrifying. Don’t let the angels get them. Oh, this is dreadful.’

“Who’s laughing? Not me.” Crowley smirks. His angel is paying him no mind. Aziraphale looks as if he is taking the not blinking challenge of the episode to heart. “Tell me what you want, dove.”

“Apples,” Aziraphale says on a whisper as the angels close in on their prey. ‘Please, please, please let them be safe.’ 

“Say again?” Crowley asks his transfixed angel.

“Apples.” Aziraphale glances at Crowley then back to the screen. ‘Not the lights.’

‘Apples?’ “Maybe our kid has already developed a sense of irony with their webbed toesie woesies.” Crowley is fighting an urge to startle his angel. ‘Satan knows it would be easy right now.’

“Webbed?” Aziraphale questions, half paying attention to their conversation. ‘Why is the...No the box can’t just leave them there.’

“Haven’t you been reading these books as well?”

“Sorry, dearest. Yes. I-I...This show is terrifying.” Aziraphale admits, arms tightening around Crowley. 

“Don’t worry. At this rate, I might have become an expert on fetal development,” he said, slithering out of Aziraphale’s hold with considerable effort. “So, apples?”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale tries to pull his husband back. Eyes were pleading for his comforting embrace.

“Why do you look so upset, dove?” ‘You can’t be that scared of a show.’ “I’m just going to get your apples. What kind would you like?” He asks, putting on his sunglasses. 

He glances back at the two as their screams fade. ‘Oh, thank God. They are safe.’ Aziraphale looks up at his demon. “Tart apples. Not sure why.”

“Alright, tart apples you shall have.” He turns to leave.

Aziraphale starts to scramble from the nest. “Wait! I am coming with you.”

Crowley stops him with a kiss. “No, dove. Stay here and keep the nest warm. I’ll be right back. You won’t even know I am gone.”

“You know that’s not true. You don’t have to go. I’ll be fine.” ‘Maybe he needs a break. I’m just being silly.’

‘Don’t look so sad.’ “Our baby demands apples. What kind of father would I be to deny them?” He wraps his arm around his angel’s lower back and pulls them together. 

“You are going to spoil them?” Aziraphale says fiddling with his husband’s lapels.

“No more than I do you.” He says claiming his angel’s mouth with a possessing kiss. 

Aziraphale nearly swoons as Crowley withdrawals. “Don’t be long.”

“I’ll be right back.” He promises before leaving their little flat. 

Aziraphale quickly decides not to watch any more of The Doctor until Crowley returns. He takes up the book his husband was reading when the shop bell rings. ‘Well, that was quick.’ Walking out onto the upper landing to ask if Crowley changed his mind, he sees Gabriel and Sandalphon. 

The floor feels like it is falling from beneath him. He had hoped never to see those lavender eyes ever again. ‘I should have known. Why are they here? Do they know about the baby?’

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel calls as he notices the Principality staring down on them. 

His anxiety was instantly skyrocketing, reigniting his nausea.“Gabriel, Sandalphon, w-what are you two doing? Here?” he asks meekly as he descends the stairs. ‘They haven’t seen me like this. What must they think?’

Gabriel looks over the nervous little angel. “We have come to see you, Aziraphale. Made some changes have you?” He gestures to his body. 

‘The last time you saw me, it was Crowley. He told me how frightened you were. You might yet be.’ “Yes. You might say that.” Aziraphale fains confidence. 

Gabriel chuckles, “Aziraphale we are here to offer you your position back. You will need to repent for your treason of course, formally.” he says matter of factly.

“Repent?” Aziraphale frowns. ‘The very idea. You should be the one repenting.’

“Yes. God is merciful. As we all should be when the situation calls us to do so.” Gabriel says, clasping his hands together. 

“Situation?” 'They know.' Aziraphale focuses on concealing his fears. He gives his smug former boss an indignant look. 

“Yes. We know the demon Crowley is responsible for tempting you away from your duties.” Gabriel provides smiling a sickening smile.

“Tempting? He has never tempted me to do anything I wasn’t willing to do in the first place.” Aziraphale scolds the archangel. ‘I should have chosen him sooner. Should have told you all to go to Hell. You belong there, not my husband.’

“So, you are saying you won’t repent?” Gabriel questions him with a faux puzzled look, taking a step closer.

“I should think not,” Aziraphale says mimicking the brave little girl from earlier in the day. Chest thrust up, posture rigid, chin held high.

“This isn’t a social call Aziraphale. We may have been unsuccessful with the Hellfire, but there are other ways we can deal with traitors.” Gabriel threatens, purple eyes glaring his anger.

“Are you threatening me in my own home? You need to leave Gabriel, and take your potato with you.” Aziraphale commands, uncertain to where this boldness is coming from. 

“We aren’t going anywhere. Call this an ultimatum. Renounce the demon Crowley and return to Heaven. You will make a formal confession and repent. Or Sandalphon here will do what he does best.” He smiles in smug delight. 

‘Like Hell, I will.’ “I will never renounce Crowley. We are bonded. He is my husband and we…” the words are quickly cut off. He thinks quickly. ‘God gave us her blessing.’ He rushes to his desk and takes God’s letter in hand. He marches back towards the intruders and presents the paper. “We have God’s expressed approval. Though I would have married him regardless.”

Gabriel snatches the paper. He scoffs as he finishes reading it, casting it to the floor. “That means nothing. Your demon could have made that himself, or you. What kind of angel would bond with a demon?” his lip curls in disgust. 

“Leave Gabriel.” Aziraphale demands. ‘Crowley.’

Gabriel stares at Aziraphale, eye deep violet with rage. “I will not stand for this treason, Aziraphale! Sandalphon.” he looks to his companion. A silent order is communicated. 

Sandalphon sneers his horrible grin at Aziraphale and pulls a flaming sword from the ether. ‘We will destroy your corporation. You will be forced to return to heaven. There we can bring you back into the fold. And if we can’t well, eternity is a very long time.” Gabriel informs in wicked delight. 

Crowley felt it, his angel’s terror. He tries miracling directly into their shop, but something is barring him. Only managing to materialise on the steps. He sees the cause for his angel’s panic. “YOU FUCKING BASTARDS! LEAVE MY ANGEL ALONE!” He tries punching through the window. He only succeeds in bloodying his hand. He tries to freeze time. Only the world outside the shop is affected. Sandalphon is advancing on Aziraphale. “GABRIEL TAKE ME! IF YOU WANT BLOOD I’M HERE! I WON’T EVEN FIGHT BACK!” He screams to the heartless archangel. ‘This is my fault. My fault for mocking them.’ his mind is a million fractures stabbing into his essence. 

Looking through the windows, their eyes lock. His angel smiles a sorrowful smile and mouths, “We love you.” All thought of reason, time, and reality breaks. Crowley steps back from the doors. Infernal fire and blind rage consuming him. He reaches into the fabric of reality. He feels the atoms that compose the wood, and glass of the bookshop. He feels the iron piecing it all together. He wraps his essence into every particle, gripping tight. Whatever magic Gabriel was using was also drawn into the snare. In a ragged roaring cry, Crowley rips the front of the bookshop asunder. 

He advances, unable to think beyond a primal need to protect the ones he loves. He reaches the top of the steps when a bright orange light erupts from the interior. It sends him staggering back. 

“AZIRAPHALE!” he cries into the destruction of the bookshop. Glass glittering on the pavement, splinters of wood all around him. There just inside is the same orange light. This time it is a softly glowing sigil circle. Behind it is his angel. The light dims then disappears. 

Crowley runs to his angel, falling to his knees, holding Aziraphale in a crushing embrace. He hears coughing from over his shoulder. There in a dishevelled heap on the floor is Gabriel. Crowley is about to turn his fury upon the archangel when he miracles away. “That’s right run, you fucking coward.”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale manages in a weak voice. ‘Why am I so tired?’

He pulls his angel down into his lap, as he sits in the ruins of their shop. He holds Aziraphale, rocking them both. He sobs into those impossibly soft curls. “I thought I lost you.” ‘I can’t lose you. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.’

“They were trying to force me back to Heaven,” Aziraphale says, voice barely audible. 

“What?” he growls impossibly low. Fear, rage, and something darker takes root in Crowley’s mind. ‘I didn’t know how much of myself you let me keep Mother. But I will use every last piece of it to destroy your Host if they come near us again.’ 

“They were going to destroy this body so my essence would be pulled back to Heaven.” he can’t help but fall into gasping sobs. ‘They would have destroyed our child.’

“That would…” ‘Our baby.’ “Aziraphale are you alright? Are they alright?” he searches his angel’s corporation for any sign of injury. When he doesn’t find any, he forces his angel to look at him. Kissing his love with all that he is, or ever was. “I won’t leave you again. I am so sorry.” 

“You couldn’t have known. I never thought... and then they were here.” Aziraphale looks up. The shop’s doors are just a gaping hole. Humans beginning to gather outside. The books that were along the windows are among the wreckage. ‘None of that matters.’ 

“What happened?” Crowley pleas for understanding. 

“I thought you had come back. And they were standing there. They wanted me to renounce you and return to Heaven. I refused. G-Gabriel ordered Sandalphon to discorporate me. That was about the time you showed up.” he weakly smiles, caressing his husband’s tormented face. “Sandalphon was bringing down his sword when…” Aziraphale looks to a pile of ash on the floor. “He was gone in an instant.”

“Aziraphale what did you do?” ‘You incinerated an archangel.’

“It wasn’t me. I don’t know what or who saved me, but it wasn’t me.” Aziraphale explains moulding into Crowley’s body.

Crowley looks around their once-peaceful haven from the world. ‘It will never be the same. Not now. Not after this.’ “We can’t stay here, Aziraphale. My flat might not be safe either.”

“Where could we go?”

Crowley holds Aziraphale as close as he was able without causing pain. A tendril of his essence seeps into his angel connecting them even there. “I’ll find a place. A cottage, like we talked about. We’ll figure this out.” ‘You will be safe. Our child will be safe.’

“Crowley, I love you.”

“I love you too, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	19. For All That You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions, home shopping, and...well...stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIGGER WARNING! TORTURE DESCRIPTION!

Friday 11 October 2019  
8:40 pm  
Soho

What came next was necessary but no less grievous for the pair. Everything that was salvageable, through physical or metaphysical means, was evacuated to the Mayfair flat. Books could be repaired, and walls willed back into place, but the memories from the last two hundred years would forever be changed after today. Now the bookshop was empty. Just another husk for time to consume.

'We were deluding ourselves. Couldn't possibly be safe for long. Nowhere is.' Crowley looks down at his angel sleeping peacefully against him. He was hoping his angel was just overexerted after the incident, nothing that would cause lingering concerns.

They were headed back to Tadfield. Anathema had all but demanded they stay with her and Newt. Crowley wasn’t overly thrilled about dragging the humans into their dangerous situation, but presently they had little choice.

The moon that rose over the horizon was nearly full. The world around them was quiet. Even the Bentley remained silent the whole of the trip. After everything that happened, Crowley was able to maintain a level of angry composure. But now, in the silence of the evening, everything caught up to him, all at once.

He felt like he was drowning in his own mind. Thousands of moments flooding his senses, happy, sad, euphoric, painful. Everything converging into a mass of all his angel and their child meant to him. Crowley pulled the Bentley to the shoulder and put it in park. Teeth clenching, wanting desperately to cry, but he couldn’t allow himself to disturb his angel.

His eyes burned like they had been doused in holy water, from unshed tears. 'I almost lost you again.’ Crowley’s jaw clenches tighter. ‘They would have destroyed our baby. Without them even being able to see this world.’ he wanted to hold his angel close, close as any two beings could be. ‘You should have fucking renounced me. I would have survived it. You would survive it. I am not worth your or our child’s life. I would have found you. Both of you. You can’t risk yourself for me.’

Crowley looks to the roof of the Bentley. ‘Why give us your blessing and let something like this happen? Why not tell those fuckers your true will. It’s so easy to hide away and pretend you don’t see how fucked everything is. They almost destroyed your blessing, our...our…” This is the thought that drags him down into that pit that always tries to claim him.

Aziraphale hears something, a laugh maybe, or someone crying. His mind is pulled from his sleep. It is then he realizes Crowley is shaking at his side, they were no longer moving. Aziraphale looks to his husband. Crowley is hysterically weeping, forehead resting against the steering wheel, "Dearest?"

Crowley slowly shakes his head from side to side. "Y-you sh-should have renounced-d me," he says through his gasping sobs.

Aziraphale shot up and turns to his husband. "Never." He says firmly. 'How could I? Why would you think I could? Do you still fear I will abandon you? I will never deny you again.'

Crowley pulls Aziraphale by the cardigan into his lap, pinning his shocked angel to the steering wheel. "YOU STUBBORN BASTARD! IF IT MEANS YOUR LIFE! OUR CHILD'S LIFE! YOU HAD BETTER FUCKING RENOUNCE ME!" his fears came out as anger. Not with Aziraphale, but for his angel, for his family. His fury fades again into whimpering sobs. Burying his face in his angels soft warm chest, he clings to Aziraphale.

‘Never.’ He composes himself and takes his husband’s face between his palms. "Crowley, look at me, damn you,” he demands. Crowley does as ordered, sunglasses obscuring his eyes. Aziraphale tentatively removes them. His demon looks lost in grief. ‘I am so sorry, I scared you.’ “I will never deny you ever again."

The yellow of Crowley’s eyes already flooded his sclera. This statement made his pupils blow impossibly wide.."You have to dammit. If…if it means your life. I-I would have understood. I would have found you." ‘As long as you are safe. I would find a way for us.’

"And what if it severs our bond?" Aziraphale asks softly.

‘Would it? Could it? Is such a thing even possible? Even if it could, you would still be alive. That is all that matters.’ "That wouldn't make me stop loving you. We could just...just…"

This question Aziraphale didn’t even want to speak aloud. Such things often tempt the universe into action, but he had to break through his husband’s fear to make him see reason. "And what if severing our bond harms our child? What if our bond is what makes them possible?" He tries to say the words as gentle as he could.

That horror never crossed his mind. ‘No. No, I can not make that choice. You or our child? What is life without you? Could I sacrifice one to save the other?’ Perhaps there was a limit he was not prepared to cross. 'No. I couldn't. I can’t make that choice. Please, God, don’t ever force me to make that choice.’ He couldn’t respond. ‘Aziraphale is right. There was no choice. If my angel had gone willingly and renounced me, and our bond was severed, there is no guarantee our baby would survive. If Aziraphale didn’t go willingly, what would it matter? Our baby would be lost either way. Fuck you fortune, you hateful bitch.’ He wanted to cry again. Not out of fear or anger but for his helplessness in the face of such a decision. He wanted to yell at something. Curse Her name. Tell all of existence what a pile of shit it all was.

Aziraphale watches the play of emotions on his husband’s pained face. ‘Sometimes, there is only faith.’ "Would you have renounced me?"

Crowley feels as though he has just been smacked. "No." ‘My side could do their worst a million times over before I would give you up.’

"And why not? Is not all the same reasoning applicable to you? Would I not have found you? Why is my life so much more valuable than yours, Crowley?" Aziraphale demands. It was his turn to pin his demon to the seat.

‘Yes. Yes, you are more valuable than me.’ "Be-because…I" his words catch in his throat.

Aziraphale pushes his husband harder into the seat. "Because what?" ‘Say something damn you.’

Crowley takes his angel by either shoulder and shouts, "BECAUSE!” his fury quickly fails, “I can't do this without you." he whimpers.

"And I could?" Aziraphale scolds. ‘You would be gone, and I would carry on as if none of this ever mattered. Facing down eternity alone.’

Fear consumes him once more. ‘You are so much stronger than me.’ “As long as you are safe. I need to know you are safe. Even...even if...My life doesn’t mean much. But if…”

“It does to me,” Aziraphale says with all sincerity he could force into the words. ‘You mean everything to me.’

Crowley can’t look at his angel. Can't look at the cool focus of those beautiful blue eyes. "You would have our baby," he says, trying to reassure himself.

"You can't be certain of that.” Aziraphale scolds. “And neither could I.” His demon finally meets his eyes. He smiles sweetly. 'It was a horrible position to be in. And I know you are scared, but I am still here.' “Besides Agnes was right," he says trying to lighten the tension that consumed the air in the Bentley.

"You and your damned witch," Crowley grumbles.

"It was our baby, Crowley," Aziraphale says, smoothing his fingers through long red waves.

"What?" Crowley asks, trying to decipher his angel’s meaning.

Aziraphale takes his husband’s hand and places it on his stomach. "Our baby protected us." he smiles warmly.

"How? That...isn't possible." Crowley says in disbelief.

Aziraphale leans in and kisses his befuddled demon. "Ineffable perhaps, but apparently very possible."

Crowley surges forward claiming his angel’s mouth. “I am sorry,” he says, pulling his angel into him.

“What in Her name for?” Aziraphale asks as lips find his neck.

Crowley stops and sits back in the seat, “For everything.” Crowley sniffs.

“I don’t blame you now. And I certainly didn’t blame you then,” he says nestling into his husband’s warmth.

“Aziraphale can we...without the whole divine ecstasy part that is. I want to check on them.” Crowley asks sheepishly.

“Of course, dearest,” he confirms. His essence slips free from his corporation into their little pocket of solitude.

Crowley follows closely behind. They are both there. Darkness and light acknowledging each other. There, tethered to Aziraphale’s essence is a little ball of warm amber light. It is shining and singing a happy call to its parents. Crowley answers with a song of gratitude for their little one’s intervention. A dark tendril caressing its happy gleam. If you were to ask both of them, they would have sworn before God Herself they heard a faint little giggle.

Tuesday 22 October 2019  
11:00 am  
Hampshire

Over a week later the two had toured nearly twenty listings. On the third day, they decided to hire a realtor. This made things a bit easier, but no more successful. Crowley’s comprehensive list of requirements left little room for discussion. A move-in ready cottage on five achers or more, no less than three bedrooms, and two baths, a garden or potential therefor, a greenhouse, a library, a playroom, formal dining, a spacious living room, large kitchen, wood-burning fireplaces, great views, nothing near a church, something remote and away from people, and of course a garage. Luckily for their realtor, money was of no consequence.

Several homes came close, but there always seemed to be something off. Their former agent was out with the flu, though they knew it was just the human’s way of getting rid of unrealistic clients. Today they were meeting their replacement agent at a listing in Standford. Aziraphale was hopeful. Crowley was beginning to grow impatient.

They pulled up along a winding secluded drive. Crossing over several small streams via bridges. The property was well away from anyone who might be considered a neighbour. The grounds were exquisite. All manner of trees dotted the landscape. Cypress, pines, willows, yews, beech, elders, oaks, birches, crepe myrtles, and varying types of fruiting trees; all dressed in their seasonal best. Flowers would also be abound come the spring. The whole property seemed to be one massive garden.

Around the house was a stone wall. It did little in the way of privacy, but added to the overall charm. There was a creek that ran along the right side of the home. Whoever this realtor was, definitely knew a beautiful property when they saw one.

The house itself was grand, far larger than anyone might call a cottage. Though it had a quaint feel to it. Natural stone walls, cross-gabled rooves, large picture windows, and two bay windows flanking the main entrance’s dutch door.

Pacing near the front door was a young woman, elegantly dressed in a floral satin blouse and emerald pencil skirt. She looks nervous as she sees them arrive. Crowley looks to Aziraphale, “The grounds are beautiful.”

“They are very picturesque. It should be breathtaking come spring.” Aziraphale agrees. ‘Let's hope the interior is just as lovely.’

The young woman approaches with a cautious smile. Crowley exits the Bentley and is greeted with a firm handshake, "Mr Crowley?"

"That would be me."

"Pleasure. Evelyn Mackintosh." She introduces herself.

Aziraphale comes around the Bentley. The young woman turns to him with a more confident smile, "Mrs Crowley."

Aziraphale takes the woman's offered hand. "It is a pleasure, Ms Mackintosh."

She laughs at the formal address, "Oh, just Eve, please. So what do we think so far?"

"The grounds are astonishing." Aziraphale answers for the both of them.

"Yes, I know that was an important aspect of your criteria. The former owner was a magnificent gardener." She says, looking around them with a more confident smile.

"Show us the interior," Crowley demands, taking Aziraphale's hand.

"Yes! Follow me." She says, turning on her heels walking towards the house. Unlocking the door, she invites them in. The foyer has high vaulted ceilings with panelled skylights. There isn't a single lamp on, and the whole house is suffused with light. "It is estimated the home was built in the 1800s. Though it has been extensively renovated." She walks into the main common room. "It has all the modern amenities."

Eve provides a comprehensive tour of the ground floor. Everything is spacious and inviting. The open floor plan is contrasted with hints of Tudor craftsmanship. There is a formal dining room that seats ten comfortably. A full gourmet kitchen, with breakfast nook. There are several living spaces. One even identified as a perfect playroom. Finally, they come to a door, and Eve stops with her hand on the knob.

"This might be my favourite room." She opens the door and inside is a two-story library. The second story catwalk is accessible by a small spiral stair. There is a large bay window looking out on the front lawn. The rest of the walls are floor to ceiling mahogany bookshelves.

"Well, that should fit your collection well enough." smirks Crowley.

"It is perfection." agrees Aziraphale.

Eve sighs in relief at the declaration. "Let me show you the second floor."

Upstairs is just as warm and welcoming as the rest of the house. There are five bedrooms in total; one Crowley has already designated as the possible nursery. The master bedroom is stunning at a word. The whole of one wall is taken up with picture windows, and a pair of french doors that led out onto a wrought-iron terrace.

Aziraphale looks to Crowley with an anticipatory smile. The view beyond was wonderful, densely wooded grounds with paddocks beyond, rolling hills in the distance, and no one within miles.

The ensuite was just as perfect as everything else. Crowley turns to Eve who is currently talking about the His and Her's walk-in closets. "Could you give my wife and me a moment?"

The young woman looks suddenly pensive, "of course. I'll be downstairs. There's more to see in the back." She nods a goodbye then exits the room.

"Crowley it's magnificent," Aziraphale says once he is sure Eve is out of earshot.

Crowley pulls his angel into his arms. "You like it then?"

"Very much." He looks around the room. ‘It’s so far everything we asked for.’ Then the memory of the bookshop creeps in, stealing the joy from the moment.

Crowley sees the sudden change in his angel’s expression, “What is it, dove?”

“Do you think we’ll be safe here?” he asks timidly.

“We stick to the plan. No miracles anywhere near the property. Anathema is going to put up wards to mask our presence here. And we'll keep a low profile. We won’t even have to worry about nosy neighbours.” Crowley reassures.

“I suppose. It is a beautiful house.” Aziraphale smiles with renewed excitement.

“Well, if you like it we’ll take it.” Crowley kisses the tip of his angel’s nose.

“But what about the greenhouse?” Aziraphale pouts. ‘I know it is something you wanted for yourself.’

“We haven’t finished the tour. Let’s go. Human’s don’t have an eternity to wait.” Crowley says leading Aziraphale from the room.

Downstairs Eve is waiting restlessly at the bottom of the stairs. Crowley calls, “So, about the rest.”

Eve turns and smiles up at them. “This way, please.”

Past the kitchen is a sunroom wholly made out of glass panels, including the ceiling. Crowley can see his plants making themselves at home here. Aziraphale imagines stormy days curled up reading a book, listening to the patter of rain on the glass.

Beyond that is an attached victorian cast iron greenhouse. The ironwork is stunning and intricate. It is large enough to house hundreds of plants. “Uh, well done. You managed to do the impossible Ms Mackintosh.” Crowley praises the human.

“T-then...You like it?” she asks tentatively.

“What do you say, wife? Is this the home of your dreams?” Crowley asks his angel sarcastically.

Eve hurries to inject, “There is more. The garage and the little guest cottage out back.”

Aziraphale smiles graciously at the woman, “We’ll take it.”

“Brilliant!” Eve exclaims. She takes out her tablet and begins tapping at the screen. “I will call the owner and inform them. The asking price is one point seven million…”

Crowley cuts her off, “We’ll pay the full asking price, and an additional half if we can close today, and they have all of their stuff out by tomorrow evening. You do work off of commission, yes?”

Eve gapes at the two, blinking her confusion. “But... that...I can see what I can do.”

“Tell them it is a cash offer. We’ve been imposing on our friends for far too long.” Aziraphale explains.

Eve nods dumfounded and leaves them standing in the greenhouse. “Well, welcome home, dove.”

“They haven’t agreed to it yet,” Aziraphale says hugging Crowley.

“They’ll never get a better offer. I can assure you of that,” he says with a sly smirk.

‘Fiend.’ “That isn’t very sporting Crowley.” Aziraphale mockingly admonishes. ‘Wonderful, beautiful fiend.’

Eve comes running back, smiling as though she just won the lottery. “Alright. I spoke with the seller. They have agreed to your terms. The house is yours.”

“Thank you. Wasn’t that hard. Never is when you throw enough money at someone. So, where do we sign?” he asks, leaning against one of the greenhouse tables.

“I could...I’ll have my office email me the documents. I can get your signature here if you like,” offers Eve.

"You do that," Crowley says dismissively. He takes Aziraphale's hand and walks them out of the greenhouse.

Their end of the purchase is quickly completed. Eve insists on finishing the tour. The small guest cottage is large enough to be its own home. Crowley figures he will offer it to Anathema's mother when it comes time.

Crowley texts Anathema, _"Well, roomie, we are moving out."_

_"Damn. I was enjoying not doing the dishes. Congratulations!"_ She messages back.

Thursday 24 October 2019  
8:34 am  
Mayfair

Aziraphale and Crowley spent the next day shopping for the necessary furniture to make their new house a home. They hit a balance between Crowley’s love of modern minimalism and Aziraphale’s love for comfort and craftsmanship. With a little assistance from the salesperson, they managed to find everything they needed.

Once they received confirmation their little paradise was now vacant they hired a moving crew. The team of men were currently busy loading boxes into the moving trucks. Miracling the flat’s contents packed was one thing. Sending everything magically to their new residents would definitely spark some curiosity from above and below.

Crowley was downstairs busy terrifying one young man about his lack of care handling the dove statue. They were nearly finished. Aziraphale was absently humming to himself, walking from room to room, making sure they didn’t forget anything. The last place to be checked was the little storage closet near the master bedroom.

Aziraphale opened the door and stopped. ‘What in God’s name?’ The room wasn’t a room. There, just past the threshold was a vast expanse of darkness, bespeckled with glittering distant stars. There was no floor, no ceiling, only the door. Aziraphale stood in awe looking at the wonders before him. He didn’t even hear Crowley reenter the flat.

“Angel?” is all Crowley could say. He knew precisely what his angel was currently gawking at.

Aziraphale turns wide-eyed to his husband. Crowley was standing there looking as if he was caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. "Crowley, what is all this?"

"It’s uh...It’s nothing.” Crowley groans. He crosses over to Aziraphale taking the door in hand, attempting to close it.

“No,” Aziraphale demands, forcing the door back open. “Crowley, dearest, talk to me.”

“It’s...It’s nothing. The trucks are all packed. You ready to go?” he asks, trying to divert attention away from the literal galaxy of stars in his closet.

“Crowley, I love you. This is...not nothing. You can trust me. I won’t bring it up again if you don’t want to talk about it further. But this…” Aziraphale gestures to the room that isn’t, “This shouldn't be here. It’s...what even is this?”

Crowley slumps his shoulders in surrender, “It’s my purpose.” he says, looking out into the void.

“Your purpose?” Aziraphale questions. ‘What purpose is a room full of stars?’

Crowley looked towards his angel, “From before…” he says softly. He takes a few steps into the room. Feet finding footing on emptiness. “Before the Fall.”

“Crowley, I don’t understand,” Aziraphale says considering if the room will accommodate him as well.

Crowley turns but can't meet his angel's sapphire stare. "I was a Seraph, Aziraphale."

"A seraph?" He asks in astonishment. He chances it and takes one tentative step. There does seem to be a solid surface he cannot see. Aziraphale comes to his husband's side.

Crowley nods. "Lucifer, Beelzebub, and me. We were choir mates."

'You must have been known by some other name.' "Who were… What was your name?" He asks, taking his demon's hand.

'I can't say that name. I don't deserve to say that name.' He glances up at his angel. "God’s venom."

Aziraphale's eyes go impossibly wide. "Samael… but Crowley he was… you were." 'This can't be. That's not you. You couldn't do those things.'

Crowley sees the accusation in his angel's expression. He scowls and turns away. “The great seducer? Angel of destruction? The accuser? God’s fucking lapdog of death? Bullshit propaganda Gabriel and his pals decided to spread around after my fall. Half of the shit I get accused of is Azazel’s or Lucifer’s doing. ”

“But…" 'You know him. He would not lie to you.' Walking around his husband, Aziraphale faces him square on. "Crowley, I want you to tell me everything. You promised we would talk about it.”

Crowley smiles. 'You'll never let this go until I do.' “Everything...there is a lot to tell.”

“We are immortal.” Aziraphale reminds, taking his husband's hands.

“Right. Well, where to start?” He looks around them. The pain of the memories flooding in from the dark recesses of his mind. “You’ve seen a Seraph.” Crowley releases his angel’s hands and sits on the nonexistent floor. He curls his lips in a sneer, “Burning pile of feathers flying around God’s throne singing hail and hallelujah.” he describes as if it were distasteful.

“Honestly, I haven’t. They don’t associate with the lower choirs.” Aziraphale says, taking a seat next to his husband.

“No.,” he says, eyes seeing into the past. “We didn’t back then either. That was the problem, wasn’t it? You keep people cooped up doing the same thing for eternity, and they are bound to go mad. Even if that is your divine purpose.” purpose he groused between grit teeth.

“Was it always like that?” Aziraphale asks. ‘To look on her face. So many would cherish the opportunity. Surely it couldn’t be all that awful.’

“For most. Though she did let us out from time to time. The odd job here, terrifying some lesser angels there. Not for me, though. I don’t know why she picked me over the others, but she did. Her left hand. She wills, I did.” He says wistfully. “All this…” he points to the room. “I was given the power of creation.” he swirls his hand. A small blue ball of light spins into existence. “And destruction.” Crowley frowns and closes his fist. The small light explodes in little sparks. “She said you can't have one without the other. Not just conjuring things that already exist, or manipulating the world around you. She gave me the power to shape reality at a thought. Bend it to my will. Guess that's how the whole angel of destruction bit started." Crowley reclined back on his elbows, staring up at the starry space above them.

"You created the stars?" ‘That’s why at the observatory you were upset. I am so sorry, my love.’

Crowley smiles at the memories playing in his mind. His eyes closing indulging in that joyful time. "At her side. It was a privilege. I enjoyed my work. Not just stars. Whole systems, nebulas, galaxies, creating things from my imagination.” He flicked his wrist, and before them, a beautiful kaleidoscope of gas and dust appears. “The Great Nebula in Carina,” he smirks. “That was fun. Radiation is so strong in some places it strips electrons from atoms. Pillars of destruction they call it. They aren't pillars at all.” he says frowning at the classification. Crowley smiles sadly at his angel. “Alpha Centauri was my last. Isn't really finished."

"But..you retained your powers?" asks looking at the little nebula before them.

"Not all. Not completely. This is the most I can manage these days. Though I seem to have more than I previously thought. Figured it was part of the punishment. Knowing what I had at her side. What I lost. So many of the others lost theirs completely. Their minds too." He sits up, hunched, so his elbows rested on his thighs.

‘My poor husband. I never knew.’ "So, what happened?"

"Lucifer. We were the first to be created, the Seraphim. Her children. Then She started making the rest. We still outranked them, so Lucifer didn't care. Arrogant prick. Then there was talk of humans. God said we were to love them as we do Her. Old Scratch couldn't abide that. Hurt his ego.” He turns with a cocked eyebrow. “You know there was a time when I was more powerful than him."

"More powerful than Lucifer?" Aziraphale stares in shock.

Crowley chuckles, "Yeah. Firstborn and your little brother is Mummy's favourite."

"Bet he didn't like that."

Crowley smiles, mischievously, "What could he do? He'd pick a fight I'd bend reality. Freeze him in place. Leave him there until She ordered me to free him."

‘That does sound like you.’ "What happened after She talked about the humans?"

"You know that bit. Luci got pissed, amassed a following of other angels. Everyone was jealous of someone else's role. Upset about their jobs. Wanting this new thing called free will. Sods didn't know we already had it. S’why they could rebel in the first place." he explains glowering at his boots.

‘Luci?’ Aziraphale looks at Crowley wondering what he was like before.

"So there Lucifer was causing all kinds of trouble. God wasn't blind. She just thought they were all blowing off steam. Being told you have to love powerless weak humans as we loved Her was going against our nature. She knew, though. Had too." he says more to himself than to his angel.

"Then there was talk of war. Angel against angel. Small skirmishes broke out. Nothing serious. Then she called me back from Alpha Centauri. Told me of her plans of casting out Lucifer for his crimes. I didn’t know what to do. I was loyal to Her, but he was my brother. I knew what he was doing was wrong, but he was still my brother. I asked her to let me talk to him. She agreed. Some of what he said made sense. So that's where I come in with my big fucking mouth." He grumbles.

"What do you mean?"

"I went to Her and pleaded their grievances. She told me they must be punished, or it would get worse. I asked Her why.” He holds up a finger. “Mistake number one. Then she said there was no other way. I, in my infinite stupidity, said there must be. Mistake number two.” Crowley holds up a second finger. “Then She… She… made me an offer. If I could find just one of them willing to repent, She would spare them all. I agreed to find one.” His eyes are far away in a time long before time existed. “Mistake three.” He says as tears seep from the corners of his eyes. “I judged Her. Told Her... S-She was wrong and said I knew better than She did.”

“And then...then...I…I Fell.” He fought back the tears, fought back all the memories that were too painful. Tucked the feelings that wanted to consume him away deep in his mind. Crowley composed himself with a sharp sniff. “Fell from the highest circle of Heaven to the lowest circle of Hell. And I didn’t understand. I was trying to help. End the war without violence. And what did it get me? A pit of boiling sulfur. Burned right through me.” he looks at his hands as if he might still see the wounds. “I had to claw my way out. Still not sure how I managed it. But there I was. Crawling on my chard hands and knees in my new world.”

“Crowley...in my dream...that’s what she meant. That you knew why you couldn’t be forgiven.”

“Yeah. I tried at first. I did. Clinging to some blind hope, I could find one. You don’t make friend’s in Hell when you go around preaching God’s love. Nobody would hear me. Lucifer obviously didn’t approve of it either. Said I wasn’t one of them. S-said...said...he would make me one of them.”

“What did he do?”

“Torture. Y-years of torture. My own brother. I tried to save his sorry ass, and he tortured me.” Crowley frowned at his clenched fists. “I was given my first corporation just so they could really do the job. I was dismembered, animals set loose on me. Eating me from the inside out. I would heal.” He sighed heavily, “And they would do it all over again. At first, I prayed to Her. Begged Her to deliver me from their hands. When She didn’t, I broke. When pain is all you know you find someone to blame. I blamed Her. I was angry. Promised I would do whatever they asked. Crawled at their feet. I’s how I got my name.”

“Crowley, that is horrible.”

“Worst part is they made me tempt the humans into their own Fall.” He scoffs. “It wasn’t pain, wasn’t being abandoned. It was going directly against Her. I intended to love them as she said. But I was fresh off the rack. Begged for a chance to prove myself. To be a proper demon. I was given a great opportunity. The first temptation. I would have to betray Her, and condemn the humans. Just to make the pain stop. So I went up.”

Then, just as clear as it had been six thousand years ago, was his angel; standing atop the walls of Eden. Crowley smiles at the memory. “That is when I saw you,” he says, turning to look at Aziraphale. “You and your bloody flaming sword. You showed the humans compassion. Something I had never seen before. Then me. You...an angel. Showing compassion to a Fallen. It was unimaginable. More than I deserved for what I had just done. I fell in love with you right then and there. Never stood a chance. You were always so beautiful. You smiled at me, and I knew I would do anything to see your smile again.” he confesses brushing his thumb over his angel's trembling lips.

“My love.” Aziraphale huffs a sob.

Crowley leans in and kisses his beautiful angel. “So that is it. My story. Now you know.”

“Oh, dearest." Aziraphale hugs Crowley close. "Thank you for telling me.”

Crowley buries his face in his angel's curls. “Thank you for saving me.”

“You saved me as well.” Aziraphale whimpers.

“Just returning the favour.”

“You lost so much trying to help the others.”

“Yeah, but I got something really amazing in return," Crowley says tilting his angel's face to look at him. "We might have never met if I stayed in Heaven. And I would go through it all over again if it meant having you.”

Aziraphale can’t hold back his tears any longer. He cries for everything Crowley suffered, everything he lost, and everything he endured to be where they were now.

Crowley smiles down at his angel, holding Aziraphale close. “What is all this about?”

“Oh, dearest I wish you never had to go through any of that. I never could have imagined what Hell was really like for you. I wish I could do something, anything to make it right.”

“You already have,” Crowley says kissing his angel amongst his stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	20. You Are There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Check up with the good doctor.
> 
> (Short chapter guys. I decided to split this from a very long one.)

Wednesday 30 October 2019  
9:00 am  
Standford

They were finally moved into their new home. Anathema had come and warded the whole property to the best of her abilities. The only rooms not completed where the playroom and nursery. Crowley had asked to hold off on those rooms until after the shower. His reasoning was to not offend anyone who might get them gifts. Aziraphale, however, knew his husband was up to something.

Their appointment with the good Dr Frances was finally upon them. Crowley was determined to not become so emotional. Bets this time were among not only Anathema and Newt but also Aziraphale. One for tears, one for full hysterics, and one for no tears or theatrics but a very happy demon who won’t be able to stop smiling.

This time Aziraphale was determined to have no difficulties leaving their home. He was up, taking his vitamins, and had eaten a substantial breakfast long before the sun cracked over the horizon. Crowley was still upstairs fast asleep. Aziraphale made a pot of coffee and tidied a few things before going to roust his husband.

In their search for furniture, they came across a rather fortuitous find. The large round bed meant they could elevate their nest off the ground. Crowley explained that once his angel was showing, it would make things a lot easier for Aziraphale in the morning.

Crowley lay naked among the mass of bedding, pillows, clothing and now black and white feathers. Face buried to hide from the light that suffused every inch of their home. “Dearest,” Aziraphale called softly sitting on the edge of their nest. When no response came, he brushed a stray tendril from his sleeping husband’s ear. “Dearest, we have to leave soon. Our appointment is at eleven, and it will take us an hour and a half to get to London.” Crowley groans and shifts slightly, though doesn’t move to get up. “Darling please ge-oomf”

Crowley has Aziraphale pinned to the bed beneath his upper body. A blanket pulled over them, concealing them from the morning light. Too stunned to protest Aziraphale lays there waiting for what comes next. “I love you,” Crowley mumbles sleepily.

‘Oh, my sweet husband.” Aziraphale combs his fingers through sleep mussed hair. “I love you too dearest, but we have an appointment.” he reminds with a peck to the crown of Crowley’s head.

“I know that. I just want to hold you for a minute, dove.” Crowley says, nuzzling into his angel’s neck. “You smell like honey and sunshine.”

“You are trying to start something we do not have time to finish.’ “I will let you hold me the rest of the day if you like, but we need to leave soon if we are to arrive on time.” ‘And not break any traffic laws.’

‘Time to check up on the little one.’ “I’m up. I’m up.” Crowley slithers down and kisses his angel’s stomach. “I am holding you to your offer when we get home, dove.” ‘I am going to hold you and our child the rest of the bloody day. I can’t wait to hold them. Why does it have to take so long?’

‘Our child is never going to see their crib with you as their father.’ Aziraphale smiles down at his affectionate husband, “And I will happily indulge you. When we get back.”

Crowley huffs, flinging the blanket off of them in dramatic protest. Looking over at his angel who still laying next to him, he sighs heavily. ‘Baby. Doctor. Promise. Why are you so beautiful?’ “You think they will mind if I show up like this?” he gestures to his nudity.

“I do not care how they will feel on the matter. I will be very cross.” Aziraphale says refusing to look at his husband’s obvious taunt. ‘Vexing. That’s what you are. Utterly vexing.’

Crowley chuckles at the obvious annoyance he has caused. “Don’t worry, dove. I am for your eyes only.” He leans over and kisses his angel’s cheek. Crowley is up, showered, and dresses quickly. Aziraphale helps him work his hair into a long neat plat. And they are off. Queen's Now I Am Here playing over the speakers.

10:40 am  
Divinity Obstetrics and Gynaecology

They arrived twenty minutes early, thanks to Crowley’s refusal to heed the speed limit, much to his angel’s chagrin. They are once again greeted by the sweet little receptionist. No paperwork needed for this visit, so they wait.

“Mrs Crowley?” comes the same raspy nurse’s voice. She once again stands in the doorway with an air of authority looking at the only two seated in the waiting area.

“Here.” Aziraphale smiles standing, looking back to his husband.

“On time I see,” she says eyeing Crowley, shifting her clipboard to the other arm. “This way.” They are once again escorted towards the exam room, stopping first to take Aziraphale’s weight. “Fifteen kilograms. You seem to be right on the mark.” nurse Agnes says, still looking as though indifference is her calling.

“Fifteen...isn’t that a bit much. I..I’m not even showing.” Aziraphale worries. His hand resting on his abdomen. Though there is a slight protrusion, he figures it is merely weight gain.

“And what might you call that?” Agnes asks, pointing at Aziraphale’s middle.

Aziraphale’s soft blue blouse does little to hide the burgeoning bump. “Too many crepes.” he sighs. ‘I’m soft and getting softer.’

“No dear. You are doing just fine.” The nurse says patting Aziraphale’s hand.

Agnes shows them into the exam room. Crowley takes up his formally designated spot on the opposite side of the exam bed. Vitals are in the process of being taken when the door opens.

“Mrs Crowley. Mr Crowley. How are we today?” greets Dr Frances with a wide smile.

“We are well,” informs Aziraphale. ‘Better than a week ago at least.’

Frances looks over the papers she is carrying in her folder. “Your lab work came back perfect.” She nods. Assessing her nurse’s clipboard, she nods once more. “Eleven kilos. Weight gain right on track. How are you feeling? Morning sickness? Fatigue?” she inquires, looking at both parents.

“I don’t feel nauseous as often. Fatigue is manageable.” Aziraphale smiles his response. “Positively ravenous most of the time,” he admits looking back to Crowley. Who gives him a knowingly mischievous smile. ‘Not like that you fiend. Honestly.’ he rolls his eyes at his husband’s impertinence.

“What does your diet normally consist of?” Frances pretends to ignore the exchange.

“Since we discovered that I am pregnant, I have been diligent in following the recommendations. No compromising foods. I am craving apples, of all things. Can’t seem to get enough of them. My husband will have to plant an orchard at this rate.” ‘Our child has a very odd sense of humour. Wonder who they get that from?’ Again Crowley is given a scolding look. “I am taking the vitamins as directed. They seem to help with some of the symptoms. I am very grateful to say.”

Dr Frances notates the information. “You might consider increasing vegetables and decreasing fatty foods. Decreasing sugar as well.”

‘I’ll say.’ Aziraphale gives the doctor an agreeing look, “I learned my lesson quite effectively with a hamburger. We have been even more cautious with my diet since.”

“Good to hear. Still, no alcohol?” This she looks directly at Crowley.

“Not a drop,” Aziraphale assures.

She continues to record the answers, “What about exercise?”

“My husband and I go on daily walks. Thankfully our new home has plenty of beautiful areas to explore.” He gives Crowley an appreciative smile. Receiving a little grin in return. ‘What would I do without you?’

“New home?” Dr Frances asks in surprise.

‘Oh, dear. Perhaps I should not have mentioned our move. Too late now.’ “Yes. Near Hertfordshire. It is magnificent.” Aziraphale says quickly. He hears a chuckle from Crowley. ‘Yes, I lied. It is for our safety.’

Frances gives him an appraising look before continuing. “Congratulations. Speaking of moving, how is your stress level?”

“Well, we um…” ‘How do I answer this? Oh, just tickety boo. Nothing like your former boss showing up, threatening your life and that of your unborn child. Hiding at your friend’s home while you search for a new residence. Moving from the shop, you have loved for more than two hundred years, into a new home after a little over a week of searching. Fabulous dear. I am as carefree as a flower in May. Could the stress have hurt our baby? No. Surely I would have felt something.’

‘Oh were are swell. Nothing like watching the love of your existence be threatened. Have to rip apart their fucking beloved bookshop trying to get to them. Knowing if it weren’t for your kid, they wouldn’t be here now. I hope none of that has affected them.’ “Could be better,” Crowley grumbles.

“How so?” Frances asks of the pair.

‘I should tell you. It might be important. How to explain to a mortal?’ “You see we...The reason for the move...We were...I was…” Aziraphale looks to Crowley. Eyes pleading for help explaining their situation delicately.

Crowley’s face was hard, thankful for his sunglasses in moments like this. He might be able to fool the human into thinking he had some rare eye condition normally, but right now, he knew there was little hope in concealing his own stress. “My wife was attacked. We figured the city wasn’t safe anymore,” he explained, taking his angel’s hand. ‘It was my fault for leaving them unprotected.’

“Attacked?” Frances asks body going rigid.

“I am afraid so, yes,” Aziraphale answers not able to meet the doctor’s concerned stare.

“Was there...What happened?” She asks tentatively.

‘I failed my family.’ “Two men broke in. Held my wife at knifepoint while I was out. She managed to getaway. One of them died in the process.” Crowley answers flatly. ‘Fucking potato.’

“Were you injured?” asks Dr Frances in a gentle voice.

“No." smiles Aziraphale nervously. "Just a terrible fright.”

“I am glad you weren't hurt. Seems you have someone looking out for you.” Frances says, looking relieved.

“You might say that,” Aziraphale says smiling down at his child.

“Did the police catch the other one?” the doctor asks, looking at Crowley.

“Pfff.” he grouses. “Police can’t do n'ything about em.” ‘Sods upstairs won’t do a damn thing. Not even Her. Bless it and forget it.’

Dr Frances frowns at the thought. “I see. Well, I am glad you two are safe at least. Stress can have some nasty effects on your pregnancy. It’s easier said than done but try to manage it the best you can. It could exacerbate any negative symptoms.”

“And our baby?” Aziraphale looks up at their doctor with pleading eyes. ‘Please don’t let it affect our baby.”

Dr Frances's face softens, “No. Your baby should be fine. We'll do an ultrasound to make sure, but I wouldn’t worry. As long as you haven’t had any concerning symptoms.”

“I haven’t. Thank you, Doctor.” His hands caress the little bump hoping their child can feel how loved they are.

Frances nods in approval. “How is your sleep?” she asks, returning the conversation to the business at hand.

“Oh, no problems there. I usually sleep through the night. Occasional naps during the day.” Aziraphale answers.

“How long are the naps?” she writes down the information.

“Sometimes, only a few minutes. I might get a bit light-headed and just need a moment to collect myself. Other times a couple of hours.” Aziraphale admits.

Frances nods, again making notes. “I want you sleeping eight to ten hours a night. And take your naps. You might find sleep more difficult as the pregnancy progresses. Dad, that is where you come in. Try and make sure mom is as comfortable as possible. Take as many burdens off of her as you can.” pointing her pen at Crowley to impress her command.

‘Like I need to be told, human.’ “Consider it done.”

“Good man.” Dr Frances says, turning to set the paperwork on the counter. “Any heavy lifting or dangerous substances you might be exposed to? Do you work Mrs Crowley?” She asks, going to wash her hands.

“No on all accounts. We had plenty of assistance with the move.” He gives Crowley’s hand a little squeeze.

“No more than eleven kilos. If it is heavier than a toddler, let him get it.” Dr Frances gestures to Crowley.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He answers quickly with a mocking salute. Aziraphale cuts him a scolding grimace.

Dr Frances chuckles to herself. She applies her gloves and turns back to face them. “Keep your feet elevated when you are sitting as well.”

“I shall,” Aziraphale affirms politely.

Sitting on her rolling chair, Dr Fances pulls the machine to her side. “Well, you two seem to have everything under control. Let’s get to the fun part. My tech is out again. Getting ready for Halloween it seems. So shirt up, push your pants below your little bump and we will begin.”

Doing as instructed Aziraphale lays back on the bed. In this position, the little rise of his abdomen was far more noticeable. He can’t help but caress the small swell. Looking over at Crowley, he sees his husband smiling sweetly at the evidence of their child finally making an appearance.

Dr Frances grabs a bottle and pops the cap. “This will be cool but will warm up with your body heat. Lights please Agnes” She says, turning the bottle up overexposed skin. The room is suddenly dim, the excitement tangible in the air.

Aziraphale quickly moves his hands to allow the doctor to work. The gel is cold, making his stomach tense at the sudden sensation. The doctor takes the little contraption and works the gel over the whole of his abdomen. Making a few clicks on the machine, Dr Frances presses the implement firmly into the minuscule bump.

“Let’s see. I want to get a good look at your uterus. Make sure everything is as it should be.” She swipes from one side to the other studying the machine. “Good.” her hand dips lower, repeating the process. “Excellent your uterus looks perfect. Now let’s get a look at your little one.”

Crowley and Aziraphale both focus intently on the screen. There in the centre of the little black void materializes a tiny figure. Aziraphale has to fight the urge to touch his belly. Crowley resolutely refusing to cry again.

“There they are,” Frances announces and makes several clicks on the machine freezing the image. “That’s their head.” The cursor points to the identified portion. “Eyes, nose, mouth.” she highlights each of their baby’s features. “Their arms and legs. And their little bottom.” each new revelation is studied by the pair eagerly. “Four centimetres.” She confirms measuring their baby. “Long arms. Must take after you dad.” she cuts Crowley a slight smile.

‘I hope they do. I very much hope they look like their father. They will be so beautiful.’ “Might we hear the heartbeat?” asks Aziraphale starting to tear up a bit.

“Sure.” Dr Frances says, focusing on the machine. She unfreezes the picture and frowns. “They've moved.” She repositions the little tool and smiles. “There they are. Active little one.”

Aziraphale and Crowley watch as their baby’s arms and legs flutter around in the little void. They look restless, swimming, turning, stretching in the darkness. “They are moving? I don’t feel a thing.” Aziraphale says breathlessly.

“No, you won’t until things get a little more cramped in there.” Dr Frances assures.

“But they are moving,” Aziraphale exclaims voice quivering. He squeezes Crowley’s hand to convince himself he isn’t dreaming. ‘Hello, little one. I can’t wait to meet you officially.’

“Yes, making it rather difficult to get a fix on their...There we are.” The same whirring sound fills the room as before. “See that slight flutter?” she points to the identified spot with the cursor. “That is your baby’s heart.”

Aziraphale pulls his husband’s hand to his own chest. “Oh, oh, Crowley. It is so fast.” ‘This is so wonderful.’

Crowley once again is mesmerized. Their child looks more like a baby now than a little bean. Everything in him wants to tell the world how happy he is. ‘That’s you. You brave little beauty.’ He pulls Aziraphale’s hand to his lips, kissing his angel’s knuckles. ‘I love you both so much. What did I ever do to deserve all this? Damn the witch and her little nob. I will not cry.’

“One hundred and thirty beats per minute. Very healthy heartbeat.” Dr Frances agrees. “You’ve got a strong little one.”

“If feel like my own heart is about to burst,” Aziraphale says wiping away his tears.

Dr Frances removes the wand and cleans Aziraphale’s stomach. “Agnes will take more blood and urine samples from you. It is standard. Just want to make sure everything stays on track. But you are looking great. Keep up the good work.” she says, giving the bed a pat before standing.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Aziraphale says, righting his clothing as Crowley assists him to sit up.

“You are most welcome. See you again in a month. You will be in your second trimester. We’ll go up to every other week then.” she informs them removing her gloves and washing her hands. “You said Hertfordshire?” she looks back questioningly.

“Yes,” Aziraphale confirms, hoping his memory hasn’t decided to fail him at this moment.

Dr Frances tucks her hands into her lab coat. “If you want I can refer you to a doctor nearer to your new address.”

“No, we like this office. We don’t mind the drive.” Aziraphale says a bit hurried. ‘I feel comfortable here. I don’t want to go anywhere else.’

“Alright. See you two in a month. And Mr Crowley?” She says giving Crowley a pointed look.

“Yes?” he answers with a cocked eyebrow.

“Remember what I said. Nothing over eleven kilos, plenty of rest, and healthy foods. She will need good sources of iron and calcium.” Dr Frances commands. Smiling at Aziraphale, she resumes, “Continue on your vitamins. And should you have any questions about the pregnancy or concerns please don’t hesitate to call.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Crowley answers again with a mocking salute.

Dr Frances chuckles at the comical gesture. “Well, good luck you two. Hope those bastards that attacked you get their comeuppance.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Aziraphale says as the door closes behind her. ‘She is such a lovely woman.’

Agnes draws the labs and prints their baby’s new photo. Crowley again claims it as soon as Aziraphale hands it over. Smiling down on their little one, he notices their fingers held up as if waving. His heart is hammering his love for their little miracle. Inside the Bentley, he looks over to his beautiful angel, grinning warmly. ‘I am so happy it hurts, and I love every second of it.’ “Thank you, dove.”

“Are you going to thank me every time?” Aziraphale asks playfully.

“Probably," he admits, beaming from ear to ear. “Just can’t get used to the idea that I am going to be a dad.” ‘Me a dad. I guess stranger things have happened.’

‘What do you mean?’ Worry creeps into Aziraphale’s mind. ‘You are smiling. Doesn’t that mean you are happy?’ “Crowley…” he begins timidly. Trying to find the courage to face the answer. “You still want this, don’t you?” ‘Please, please say you do.’

“Yes, dove. More than anything.” He grins down on their child’s picture. Brushing a thumb across the little smudge of a face. Looking back up at his angel, he meets those azure eyes. “Sometimes, I just can’t believe how lucky I am.” ‘It's amazing and terrifying.’

Aziraphale beams at Crowley. “How lucky we both are, dearest.” He says, hugging his husband close. “Now, I am starving. Let's pick up something on the way home so I can fulfil my promise.”

“One thing first,” Crowley says, grabbing his phone. They recreate their picture from the previous month. This time the caption reads _“Can’t wait to meet you guys.”_

After Crowley hits send Aziraphale clears his throat. “Oh, and dearest. Do inform Anathema that I am the winner of this bet.” this is requested proudly as he adjusting his favourite cardigan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	21. All Hallows Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween special!

Thursday 31 October 2019  
10:15 am  
The Cottage

It is Halloween. The day Crowley has convinced the world that the ghosts of those who have passed on are able to walk among the living. It is the night of witches, ghouls, vampires, and all manner of spooky creatures. Some call it the Devil's Holiday. Which by Crowley’s influence alone, this could be considered valid. As of recently, it is merely a boon for the economy wherever it is celebrated. 

Crowley receives word, early that morning, Aziraphale’s costume was finally ready for pickup. They had commissioned a local seamstress to make the garment to their expressed demands. An intricate Grecian gown befitting the chief muse, and patron of epic poetry herself. Aziraphale was upstairs bathing in their beautiful new bathroom. Crowley was in his greenhouse hands deep in soil. Repotting their little lemon tree in a large planter. 

There came a sudden pulse of desire that tickles over his essence. It is faint at first, nothing more than a light tingle. Then it slowly begins to build. ‘What are you up to?’ Curiosity peaked, Crowley dusts off his hands, then rinses them in the greenhouse sink. The pulses intensify thrumming into him with urgency. 

He hurries through the house. Bounding up the stairs two at a time, careful to make as little noise as possible. Once on the second floor, he follows the growing sensations towards their bedroom. Silent as a snake on its prey he makes his way down the hall. He hasn’t even reached the door when he hears the first breathless moan. 

Everything inside him tenses. Knowing he may be intruding on something he is not meant to see halts him. He waits, listens, he hears his angel’s panting breaths, feels the mounting pleasure. ‘I shouldn’t. If Aziraphale wanted me here…”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale moans faintly into the silence of their bathroom. 

He lurches into their bedroom, coming to stand just outside the bathroom door. Peering around the door frame, he sees his angel. Damp curls falling over the edge of their tub. Head resting on a rolled towel. Face obstructed as his angel is oriented away from the door. 

The increasing pulses and soft moans tell him everything he needs to know. He watches his angel with rampant fascination. It is everything he has in him to remain unseen. To appreciate what he has unfolding right before him. Part of him wants to make himself known. Ask for permission as he should. The other is enjoying his angel’s unrestrained pleasure. 

Aziraphale tenses, neck arching against the rim of the tub. Crowley can finally see his angel’s face lost in ecstasy. ‘Just like that, dove. You are so exquisite.’ Crowley feels the peak nearing. His own effort responding to his own desires. Then it is there, overflowing, drowning his own senses. Aziraphale moaning his name loudly as the release washes over his angel. He waits still until the last of the sensation subsides, and Aziraphale is relaxing in their tub. “Well that was mesmerizing,” he says finally making himself known.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shrieks turning so abruptly water splashes from their bathroom. Face aflame at being discovered. ‘Oh, you saw. Oh, this is dreadful. How much did you see?’ “Dearest...I...I thought you were tending to your plants?” He asks, unable to look at his husband directly. ‘This is shameful. Why must I be so wanton all the time?’

‘You are embarrassed? We’re going to fix that.’ Sauntering over to their tub Crowley sits on the rim. “I was,” he says, looking over his nervous angel. “Then it felt like there was something far more intriguing going on up here.” Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to Aziraphale’s flushed lips. 

‘Intriguing?’ “Sorry, dearest.” Aziraphale sighs in shame. ‘You must have seen everything.’ “It just came over me. I…”

‘You are too adorable like this.’ “None of that, dove.” he purrs deep in his chest. “Rather enjoyed it.” 

‘Enjoyed it?’ “You...but…” The words allude him. ‘You enjoy watching me pleasure myself? What would it be like to watch you? Oh enough of that dammit.’ 

Crowley didn’t miss the little spike of interest. ‘I wonder.’ leaning in, he purrs low in his angel’s ear. “Might have to give me a more formal performance one day.” This earns him a delicious surge of desire.

“Oh, um...well…” Aziraphale sheepishly glances up at his husband's alluring golden eyes. “That could be arranged. Now...if you are interested.” this is offered meekly. His need has been demanding since he woke this morning. Clawing at his mind for attention. ‘Perhaps now it might be quelled back to a manageable state.’ 

Crowley claims his angel’s mouth. Tongue seeking, finding entrance. Wet arms burst from the water threatening to pull him in. He braces himself on the rim of the tub. His angel’s lip nipped just as he pulls free. “I am never not interested, dove.”

A hand is offered, and Aziraphale takes it as he rises from the water. Crowley assists him out of the bath, taking a towel in hand. He is turned, so his back faces his husband. First, his shoulder-length curls are dried until no longer dripping. Then his shoulders, arms and hands are seen too. Each wrist receiving a gentle kiss. 

Crowley comes to stand in front of Aziraphale. His angel’s body is flushed from the warmth of the water and desire. The pulses flow into him as he takes his time roaming over every inch of that perfect body. Kneeling before Aziraphale, preparing to tend to his angel’s legs, he comes face to face with the little swell just below the navel. Crowley looks up worshipfully at those sapphire eyes, kissing his angel’s belly. Hands caressing over still damp hips. “I never created n'ything that came near your beauty, dove.” 

‘Now, I know you are exaggerating.’ Pulling at the elastic, he freed his husband’s flaming curls. “You have me at a disadvantage, dearest.”

“We can’t have that now can we?” Standing Crowley unceremoniously sheds his clothing. First, his shirt is pulled over his head and tossed to the wet tiles below. Each subsequent layer joins it in short order. When they are at last on equal ground, Crowley leads them to the nest. 

Kneeling, he guides his angel gently to the centre to lay before him. Legs spread over his thighs, he studies his angel’s pensive expression. “Dove, we don’t have to do this if you are uncomfortable,” he reassures, hands smoothing over his angel’s supple calves. 

“It’s not that, dearest. Just considering how to go about this.” His hands wringing nervously.

“However you want. Just relax and do what feels good.”

“Of course.” he smiles. ‘Should I look at him? I know he enjoys that, but I’m not sure if I can. Do what feels good. Right. That’s not so hard.’ A hand is brought up to rest just above his mound. Crowley’s eyes watch as his fingers dip between his folds. Finding the little sensitive bud he gives a light caress. His need instantly reacts, demanding more. 

Another firmer slide and he relaxes into the sensation. He sets a steady rhythm of circling motions on the pearl, eyes falling shut in concentration. 

He thinks of his husband watching, taking his own enjoyment of the moment. Of hands reaching and claiming his breasts. Aziraphale’s own hand echos the thought. Nipples extremely sensitive but no longer painful. He caresses one gently making the heat pooling in his abdomen burn with intensity. Warm hands slide down his inner thigh. Tantalizingly close to his arousal, before nails scrape up to his knees. He keeps a steady pace out of pure will. Breathy staccato gasps telling of his rising pleasure.

The sight before him is captivating. His angel absorbed in need, brows furrowed at the steady climb to the summit. “Tell me what you are thinking about, dove.”

Licking his lips to collect his mind, he whispers, “This... Y-you w-watching... What you m-might d-do next.”

Crowley’s eyes travel the length of his angel. Watching Aziraphale’s fingers kneading the little bead of pleasure. The pulses are steady but insistently climbing. ‘You are so exquisite.’ “What do you want me to do next, dove?”

“I-I...I want y-your mouth on me. Y-your hands...Oh, Crowley…” He feels Crowley’s hands repeat their earlier motion. This time nails biting in ever so carefully. A strangled moan escapes him the whole of the enticing graze. 

“Tell me, dove,” he purrs low.

Focus and thought are beginning to fail. He forces his hand to maintain the unhurried rhythm, but he can already feel his muscles starting to tense. “I w-want...Oh, Crowley my love...I-I want y-you i-inside me.” this is moaned as his thighs tighten around Crowley’s.

There is ache mixing with pleasure. ‘You are drawing this out. For my benefit or yours?’ Either thought makes his arousal ache with its own need. “Keep going. Just like that, dove. Let me see you come undone.” 

‘Not yet.’ Aziraphale forces his eyes open. “I-I want to see...y-you...as-as well.”

‘So that’s your game.’ Bringing one of his angel’s legs over his shoulder, he presses a kiss to Aziraphale’s inner knee. “Anything, dove.” He takes his effort in hand and begins pumping firm even strokes up his length. Already halfway up the climb from the display before him, he runs his thumb over the velvety head. Spending, already leaking from the tip, eases his slide back down the shaft. 

Crowley can feel both of their releases nearing. Aziraphale’s teetering on a razor’s edge. His angel is moaning, shaking at the restraint to stay the impending orgasm. Turning his head, he kisses, then tongue tastes the same spot as before. Trailing down to the middle of his angel’s sumptuous inner thigh. “Please may I, dove?” is asked tenderly before his teeth brush gently to indicate his intention. 

“Y-yes” Aziraphale moans on a strangled breath. Eyes focused on his husband’s hand working his effort.

Crowley bares down hearing his angel cry out as Aziraphale finally falls over the edge. The sight of his angel trembling before him, and the barbs of ecstasy pulsing through him, bring him quickly to his release. Spilling over his hand and onto his angel’s quivering thigh. The muscles of his abdomen tensing with each subsequent wave. 

“Crowley, oh my dearest husband that was...was…”

Crowley descends on his angel, captured leg pressing up towards Aziraphale’s chest. Claiming his angel’s mouth in a passionate kiss, he drives his effort against Aziraphale’s slick folds. “I want you, dove,” he growls between a desperate kiss. 

“Take me, my love.” he moans, feeling his husband’s length heavy against him. 

Taking himself in hand, Crowley shifts to position his effort at Aziraphale’s entrance. In one sinuous thrust, he enters. His angel gasping at the sudden intrusion. Free leg wrapping around his waist, welcoming him further. 

They set a steady rhythm once more. Crowley thrusting up, dragging against the little bundle of nerves inside his angel. Aziraphale rocking down deepening their connection. 

The pulses crashing into Crowley in an instant are intense and urgent. He quickens to meet their need. Each thrust he feels his angel’s effort constricting around him. Urging him on, pleading for more. Aziraphale breaks their kiss, neck straining, head listing towards the side. Agonized keens of pleasure whimpered into their silent bedroom. 

Crowley bows and takes his angel’s breast in his mouth. Tongue and teeth worrying at the perk nipple. Hands tangling in his hair, grasping, pulling as the pulses reach a fever pitch. 

Aziraphale feels it as one last thrust buries his husband deep inside him. Muscles clenching, stars dancing behind his eyes as the orgasm crashes through him. He is moaning in ragged heaving breaths. Crying his demon’s name. Feeling Crowley’s answering groan from deep within his chest. 

His thrusting slows as both spiral down from their peak. They are panting, clinging to each other, an anchor to this world. It is a long moment before either has sense of themselves. Aziraphale’s legs and arms holding him close as Crowley kisses and laps lazily at his angel’s neck. 

“Happy Halloween to you too, dove.” he chuckles into his angel’s shoulder.

Aziraphale giggles beneath him, “Is this how you intended the day to be celebrated?”

“Not precisely, though it can become our tradition.” he offers, resting his upper weight on an elbow, brushing a sweat-damp curl from his angel’s face. 

“That would be most agreeable.” Aziraphale beams up at his beloved husband. Raising a finger to miracle away their spending.

Crowley grabs his angel’s hand and forces it to the bed. “Aziraphale, what are you doing?” he shouts. 

‘What is the problem? We always…’ “Oh, Crowley. I completely forgot. Silly me. Perhaps a shower instead?” he offers sheepishly. Face crimson from both their exertions and his misstep.

“Yes. Can’t go to the seamstress like this. What would the human think?” Crowley says, pulling his angel from the nest. 

They shower, only shower, quickly. After all evidence of their morning exploits is cleansed away they dress. The weather outside is becoming much more in keeping with the season. 

Aziraphale layers a soft blouse under a cable knit tan jumper, a tartan knee-length wool skirt, sensible undergarments to not scandalize the older woman, and his cardigan. Brown leather ballerina flats are selected in lieu of warmer boots. 

Crowley is kitted in his customary black, though he opts for a warmer wool coat instead of his regular jacket. He dawns a thick red scarf, foregoing his thin silver one . Tying his hair in a loose bun at the nape of his neck, they set out for the nearby village. 

The seamstress ran her little shop out of her home. The pensioner kept her mind sharp by continuing her trade well into her golden years. "I just finished the beading late last night. It is a wonderful garment. Some of my finest work." Explains the slight woman waddling into the drawing room. 

Holding up the Grecian inspired dress, she looks to the lovely couple for approval. Standing Aziraphale approaches to inspect the work. Gossamer thin silk, in varying shades of pink, gathered below the bust splitting to tie at the shoulders. A panel of gold lace for modesty to conceal Aziraphale's ample cleavage. Flowers, leaves, and little lyres picked out in iridescent glass beads around the hem and plunging neckline. Swags of dainty pearls hang from the shoulders. A gold silk ribbon wraps several times below the bust.

"Perfection. Thank you, Mrs Anderson." Aziraphale smiles to the talented woman. Hands ghosting over the intricate beadwork.

"Well try it on. Let's make sure it fits." She says, pushing the garment into Aziraphale's arms. "You remember where the fitting room is?"

"Of course." Aziraphale nods leaving his husband with Mrs Anderson. Walking to the little curtained room just down the hall.

"Rather busty your wife." The older woman smiles to Crowley.

"What can I say? I am a lucky man." Crowley says with a sly smirk, lounging on the couch, arm thrown over the back.

Undressing from his warm clothes Aziraphale slips on the dress. Tying the gold ribbon in place, he exits the dressing room. "Well? What do we think?" Aziraphale ask hands brushing down the silk.

"The most peerless piece of earth, I think, that e' er the sun shone bright on." Crowley recites Shakespeare's verse.

"Aren't we poetic? You are a vision, my dear." Grins the old woman over her glasses.

Blushing the deepest colour of his dress, “Thank you. Mr Anderson, you are quite remarkable.”

She smiles at the compliment, “What’s remarkable is my arthritis disappearing. My doctor said it is a medical miracle. I was just doing my job. Now I have recently gained quite a bit of business. If you two lovebirds don't mind too terribly, I need to get back to work.” 

“Not at all, Ma’am. We will pay our due and be out of your hair.” Crowley says presenting the woman with the money. 

Accepting the notes she gives Crowley a considered look. “Thank you, love. And should you need my services again give us more than a week for such extravagance.”

“We will. Thank you, Mrs Anderson.” Aziraphale says, disappearing to remove the dress.

“Take good care of that one. She is a kind soul.” the old woman says patting Crowley on the chest. 

“I intend to. Though my wife is a lot stronger than most give her credit.” Crowley says, looking off in the direction his angel disappeared. 

“How long have you two known each other?” questions the woman. 

“For an eternity it seems, and not nearly long enough,” he says shoving his hands into his coat pockets. 

Aziraphale returns with the dress folded over his arms. “Here, deary, I have a garment bag.” The old woman shuffles over to a closet and produces said bag. Once the dress is secured, they leave. Mrs. Anderson waving to them as they pull away. They stop at a local market to pick up a few items for lunch, including a bag of fresh apples. 

12:45 pm

Seated at their little breakfast, nook Aziraphale nibbles at his lunch. Spinach salad with grilled chicken, artichoke hearts, pecans, and a lemon dijon vinaigrette. With it fresh bread and of course an apple. 

A light jingling of little bells echoes through the hall. Aziraphale turns seeing his husband, clad in only an impossibly thin black linen wrap skirt and gold sandals. The skirt hangs precariously low on his hips. A delicate gold chain the only thing holding it in place. In his hands is an ornate Egyptian collar; at its centre a winged serpent with golden gemstone eyes. 

‘Good Lord.’ Aziraphale is so entranced he doesn’t feel the fork slip from his grasp. The loud clank of metal striking the ceramic bowl startles him back from his lustful thoughts.

Crowley doesn’t notice his angel’s shock. Too busy fiddling with the beaded neckpiece. “Dove, can you help me with the…” A pulse of desire hits him as he enters the kitchen. Looking up, he sees Aziraphale’s awestruck expression. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Standing and meeting his husband at the door, he looks over the costume. The fabric is so thin Aziraphale can make out the silhouette of Crowley’s thighs; far too easily for it to be considered decent. His adonis belt fully on display. Wrist, ankles and upper arms gilded in gold bangles, cuffs, and bracelets, encrusted with lapis, pearls, carnelian, obsidian, and garnet. All repeating the serpent theme. “Dearest, you look…” ‘Tempting.’ “Ravishing.” 

Crowley smirks knowing what his angel is currently thinking about. “Think so?” he asks, pretending to look over himself, turning this way then that.

‘How am I going to make it through the night with you dressed like that?’ “Dearest? Didn’t Anathema say...that is...that costume is very...”

“Angel, are you suggesting my outfit sssslutty?” he hisses taunting his flustered angel.

Blushing scarlet Aziraphale begins wringing his hands, “Dearest, I am ever so sorry. I...well...it it…” ‘I have been aroused all day. And you standing there, dressed like you are. This is madness.’

“Oh.” Crowley pretends to just now notice the reason for his angel’s state. Pulling Aziraphale into him, hand on his angel's lower back, “You want me.” he purrs. “You are quite insatiable today.” 

“Oh, dearest please don’t joke. You know what my body is doing to me. I very well can not help myself.” Aziraphale whines brows raised in embarrassment.

Crowley turns them, pinning his angels against the door.“You want me to help you with your body’s needssss, dove?”

“Yes.” he breathes out. Then his mind catches up with his words, “NO!” he shrieks, startling Crowley away. Seeing his husband’s worried confusion he pulls him back into his arms. ‘This is so infuriating.’ “Oh, dearest, it isn’t you. I...I fear if the goal is to satiate me today, we will not make the party.”

‘And you think that’s a problem?’ “Like that Sunday in Nice. That would be fun.” purrs Crowley, kissing his angel’s neck. “I could…” his hand slips up Aziraphale skirt, trailing up his angel’s inner thigh. “call Anathema and let her…”

“NO!” he shrieks again. This time holding his husband in place. “No, my love. We said we would attend. It would be rude not make an appearance. They have been so kind to us. I would hate to disappoint them.” Aziraphale says drawing little circles into Crowley’s bare chest.

Chuckling Crowley steps back, withdrawing his hand. “Well, when you are ready to leave, just say the word.” tilting his angel’s face up, he grins mischievously. “The doctor said I am to attend to your every need, remember? And I take my job very sssseriousssly.” he hisses before tenderly kissing his angel’s lips, pulling away slowly.

“I don’t think she meant that.” Aziraphale scolds, brushing past his mocking husband. 

“Can’t be certain. Besides, I’ll take any excuse to get my hands on you,” he smirks, leaning against the wall. 

“Well, perhaps when we return home?” Aziraphale shoots over his shoulder, heading towards the stairs.

Following closely behind Crowley leans into his angel’s ear hissing, “Then, conssssider your ssssatiation my challenge.”

‘I am wanton, and you are incorrigible.’ “But Crowley your costume. Won’t it be a bit too revealing for the children?” He asks ascending the stairs. 

“Whot? No.” Crowley says pretending to be offended. “It’s historical. I’ll have you know Pharaoh Khufu gave this jewellery to me personally. Thought I was some God named Apep. Never bothered to correct him. Besides, I got a robe.” he informs following his angel into the bedroom.

Cutting his husband a knowing look, he huffs, “Thought? Or you encouraged?” 

“Perhaps a bit of both. Come on, dove. Give us a hand with the collar.” He begs, thrusting the heavy piece in his angel’s hand.

Looking over the ancient masterpiece, Aziraphale brushes a finger over the snake’s jewelled head, “It is quite lovely, dearest.”

“The eyes are made out of glass found in Lybia,” Crowley informs caressing his angel's hand.

Aziraphale walks around his husband, pushing his long curls out of the way. The collar is brought into place, fastened, beaded strands hanging down his lean back. Aziraphale circles back, taking in the beauty before him. “Perfection.”

'I believe that title is reserved for you.' Crowley kisses his angel “Now let’s get you ready. Don’t want to disappoint the witch.”

Moments later, they were both dressed. Crowley was busy fashioning his angel's hair into a proper Grecian woman's hairstyle. Complete with a gold crown of myrtle leaves and blossoms. A strand of pearls was woven into the intricate coiffeur. “I am glad we decided on this. It is quite comfortable.” Aziraphale beams at his husband in their reflection.

“That’s not all it is.” grins Crowley. “Promise me we won’t stay long.” he purrs. A long elegant finger caressing his angel's chin.

“Once the festivities are over, I am all yours,” Aziraphale promises slipping a pair of earrings on. Which match the motif of the crown.

Aziraphale takes the robe Crowley had mentioned and aided his husband slipping it on. It was just as thin as the skirt. He tucked it under the heavy collar covering, but barely, his husband's body. Crowley takes his serpent circlet in hand, heading for the Bentley.

"Can't wait to see the witches face." He grins mischievously before pulling out of their garage.

8:00 pm  
Jasmine Cottage 

Jasmine cottage was dressed for the event as well. Skeletons rising from the Earth, massive spiders on the windows, complete with fake webs, and ghost dancing beneath the trees. Jack-o-lanterns glittered along the path and near the door. Crowley had to admit the witch did a fair job preparing for the party. 

Aziraphale knocks turning to his husband, pulling the robe a bit more closed. Crowley gave him a disapproving look. When the door is opened, Aziraphale shouts “Happy Halloween!” 

A pink-haired Anathema greets them. Her eyes roaming over their costume, “Wow. You guys went all out.” 

“Who are you supposed to be?” asks Newt, wearing an oversized ill-fitted brown suit, his tie a bit askew. 

Gesturing with his hands “I am the Muse of epic poetry Calliope. Crowley is the Egyptian God Apep.” he announces proudly.

Anathema points to Crowley with an annoyed look. “That costume leaves little to the imagination.”

‘Checkmate witch.’ “This fine linen was highly prized in ancient Egypt. I’ll have you know.” he feigns indignation. 

Rolling her eyes, she waves them in. “Whatever. The kids will be here soon. Food is set out in the dining room. Help yourselves.” She closes the door and hurries off to the kitchen.

The interior is decorated as well. Candles floating from the ceiling, black cloth covering every service, and little spooky accents scattered about the room. On the dining table was a buffet of different foods. All appearing in some grotesque aberration of what they are. A cauldron at the centre spewing a thick mist. 

“Crowley, what on Earth is all this?” Aziraphale asks grimacing at the spread.

“Beats me. Possibly edible?” he says, taking a sausage from a gruesome platter of meats that looked like something a cannibal might enjoy. “I think it’s all just meant to look disturbing,” he says before taking a bite. “Oh. Black pudding. Here, dove, you’ll like it.” 

Aziraphale picked over the offerings, refusing completely the green matter falling from the jack-o-lantern’s mouth. The one thing he eagerly ate was the caramel apple. Then came another knock at the door. 

Newt skipped from the kitchen to answer. Upon opening it, he was met with a loud chorus of “Trick-or-Treat!”

Adam, Wendslydale, Pepper, and Brian stood at the door in their costumes, presenting their various candy receptacles. Anathema calls out from the kitchen, “Coming.”

Crowley and Aziraphale greet the pack of preteens. “Hi, guys.” Crowley waves.

“Hello, everyone. Happy Halloween.” Aziraphale smiles brightly as the group filed into the cottage. 

The children were in their costumes. Adam wore a brown pinstripe suit, tan trench coat, white button-up, red tie, converse sneakers, and a tardis bucket. Pepper was indeed dressed in a red cloak and white bonnet. A duct tape vest with little cardboard boxes was fixed on top. She was carrying a small basket. Brian was grimy as Brian always was. His face was painted grey with a smattering of fake blood covering his mouth. His clothes were tattered and stained but little else done to make them appear more decrepit. He carried a pillowcase. Wensleydale wore a formal black suit and fake moustache. If he hadn’t identified who his intended costume was, he simply looked like the boy in twenty years. He carried a simple pale.

“Pardon me, Ms Aziraphale, who are you two supposed to be?” asks Wensleydale.

“Uh, I am an Egyptian snake God.” Crowley quickly offers, knowing the children would be lost with his angel’s explanation. “And Aziraphale is a Greek Muse. They inspire poetry, music, and the like.”

“Wicked.” Exclaims Adam. Next to him, Dog barks happily. 

“Hey, Hellhound. How’s Earth treating you?” Crowley asks the little terrier. 

Dog barks excitedly in response. 

The group is about to move into the dining room when another voice calls to them. “Happy Halloween Newton!” 

Newt looks at Crowley with a terrified expression. The retired madam dressed like Rita Skeeter pops through the door with a cheery smile. Following closely behind was the not costumed, nor cheery Shadwell. Crowley's and the Sargent's eyes met.

Crowley growls, “What in F..” Aziraphale quickly covers his mouth. 

“Not here. Not in front of the children. Please, dearest.” he begs with both his words and wide blue eyes. 

Shadwell looks to his wife and walks over to his former employers. Crowley pushes Aziraphale behind him and glowers down at the human daring to approach. “Mr Crowley. I believe I o yu and yur...wife isit? An apology.” 

“Crowley, dearest. Not here.” Aziraphale insisted, to his angry husband. 

“Ma wife explained evrythin. I mada horrible mustake. I hope yu en yur husbun cun furgive ma stipidity.” Shadwell says looking over Crowley’s shoulder to Aziraphale.

Growling low, teeth sneering at every word he levels the human with his full demonic glare. “You think that an apology is just going to…”

Aziraphale steps between them, cutting off his husband’s inevitable tirade, “Thank you, Sargent, I accept. It was a difficult time for everyone, and I bear you no ill will.” he turns to Crowley. “Dearest may I speak with you?” When Crowley doesn’t immediately follow, he takes his hand, “Now, my love.”

They duck into an empty room, “Crowley I understand you are trying to protect me. And I understand your fear that the Sargent is a threat, but it was an accident.” 

“Aziraphale I don’t want him near you or our kid.” Crowley grouses, folding his arms in front of him.

“I know dearest. And I appreciate your concern for our safety, but Shadwell is harmless. He is a bit delusional but a danger to no one. My discorporation was more my fault than his. And the bookshop was a complete accident. Please, for me, let this go.” Aziraphale pleads, eyes staring into his husbands fully serpent ones. 

“Aziraphale I don’t like it. I don’t like…” he is silenced by lips crashing into his own. 

When he feels his husband relax into the kiss, Aziraphale withdrawals a bit, “I love you. And I promise should Shadwell ever pose a threat again I will not stop you. But please try to be cordial just for tonight.”

‘That was entirely unfair.’ “Fine. That was a dirty trick, you know.” Crowley grumbles.

“How else was I going to get you to see reason?” Aziraphale smiles coyly pressing one last kiss to his husband’s lips before leaving the room. 

The party is in full swing. Anathema and Newt lead the group in a series of games. Crowley and Aziraphale are forbidden from using any magic to enhance their performance. Adam and Pepper win the mummy wrap game. Tracy and Shadwell surprisingly win the pumpkin carving contest. Aziraphale and Crowley quickly win the Who Am I game. Pepper swearing they cheated. Crowley insisting that after knowing someone for six thousand years, you are just better at each other’s cues. 

The whole party moves outside for a flashlight scavenger hunt. The children hurry off to find the items hidden around the grounds. Crowley and Aziraphale hold back drinking the closest thing to alcohol Aziraphale was allowed, ginger ale with lime sherbert. 

“You know what I think?” Crowley cocks his brow at his angel. Who sips at the punch. “I think this party could use a little livening up,” he says, leaning against the side of the cottage. 

Aziraphale looks aghast at his husband, “Crowley, don’t you dare.”

“What? Don’t you want the kids to have some fun?” he asks, pushing off the wall, circling around his angel.

Considering the possibilities, Aziraphale is apprehensive, “Only if they aren’t in any danger.” 

“No danger. They’re kids. Wouldn’t think of it.” Crowley says, pacing the lawn into submission. 

“Fine.” Aziraphale relents. ‘Don’t make me regret this.’

Crowley stops mid-stride holding up his fingers. His angel nods, he snaps. There is a sound of something clawing at the Earth around them. The chattering of the children in the distance suddenly stops. A grey hand bursts through the grass, then another, soon the lawn is sprouting hands everywhere. 

“Crowley, what the Hell is that?” Aziraphale demands. 

“Just a bit of Halloween fun for the kiddies,” Crowley says reclaiming his place on the side of the cottage. 

Zombies begin to pull their rotting corpses into the world. Everyone starts scrambling towards the house. Brian is grabbed by the ankle as one frees itself from the disturbed soil. He falls, legs kicking, screaming for help. Pepper brazenly comes to his rescue. She kicks at the creature’s side trying to distract it from her friend. Anathema makes to run to the children, Newt close behind. 

Aziraphale is about to intervene as well when Crowley takes him by the arm. “Crowley I did not agree to this.”

“It’s fine, angel,” he assures. “Oi! HANDMAID! GO FOR THE HEAD!” he calls out to the fearless girl. 

Pepper raises her foot and brings it down hard on the zombie’s head. The monster bursts into an explosion of candy. Everyone stops looking around in confusion. 

“What are you waiting for? Show those ghouls who’s boss!” Crowley yells to the stunned humans. 

Adam is first on the charge. Dog biting into the nearest zombie’s ankle. Finding a flower pot, Adam smashes the monster over the head. Another explosion of candy falls to the lawn. The children are chasing down the staggering creatures littering the grass in buckets of candy. The adults looking on in amusement. 

“That was very imaginative,” Aziraphale says, standing close to his husband’s side.

“What is Halloween without a bit of spooky fun.” Crowley grins very satisfied with himself. “Right. Ready to go?” he asks, pushing off the wall, offering his angel an elbow. 

Taking his husband’s arm, they walk around the house, “Let me inform Anathema.”

Miracling their glasses washed and put away, Crowley calls out, “Witch we are leaving!” 

“Thanks for coming guys.” Anathema waves her farewell.

“We had a delightful evening,” Aziraphale calls over his shoulder.

“So did we. Can you make zombies again next year Mr Crowley?” Adam asks scooping candy into his tardis bucket.

“Sure kid. Anytime you feel like bashing in a few zombie skulls in, I . Iyour demon.” Crowley shouts before climbing into the Bentley. 

They pull away from Jasmine Cottage. Aziraphale cuddles into his husband’s side, “That was very sweet what you did for the children.”

“I am Apep. Had to cause a little chaos. Went with the costume.” Crowley says wrapping an arm around his angel.

“As you say.” Aziraphale giggles kissing his husband’s cheek.

Friday 1 November 2019  
12:10 am  
The Cottage

They walked into their home, Crowley tossing his keys into a bowl on a table near the garage door. Aziraphale began removing his earrings, walking towards the stairs. A hand wraps around his waist, and he is pulled into his husband’s arms. “Dearest?”

“Still interested in that challenge, dove?” he whispers into his angel's ear.

'Wiley serpent.' “If you are up to the challenge, my love.” Aziraphale presses into the embrace.

Crowley turns his angel, pinning Aziraphale to the wall, hands pulling up the dress to expose those enticing thighs. Mouths meet, tongues exploring, moans echoing each other’s need. Crowley’s hand is seeking higher when a knock calls out from the front door. 

They both freeze, looking towards the sound. Crowley is moving his hands to his angel’s waist. “Go upstairs, dove,” he orders kissing his angel quickly before guiding him to the stairs. Another knock echoes through their silent home.

“Crowley I am not leaving you,” Aziraphale says, pulling away from his husband’s commanding hands.

He turns, grasping his angel's face. “Go upstairs. We don’t know who is on the other side of that door.” 'Please don't fucking argue.' Another knock.

“Which is all the more reason for me to stay,” Aziraphale says, marching for the door. 

Crowley grabs Aziraphale by the hand pulling his headstrong angel back, “Just this once will you please do as I ask?” 'I can't watch you die.'

A harder, more insistent knock calls to them. 'No, I will not hide away from whatever is out there. We are in this together.' “I am staying,” he says firmly planting his feet. 

“Urrruh! You are so damn stubborn at the worst times. Fine! I’m getting the door.” Crowley snaps, storming towards the incessant knocking. 

“After you. Dearest.” huffs Aziraphale.

Crowley yanks open the door, “Whot the Hell do you want?”

Leslie smiles at the familiar faces, “Hello again. New place? I have a summons here for the both of you. Need your signatures.”

“A summons?” Aziraphale asks, peering around his husband. 

“That’s what I am told,” Leslie says offering the clipboard and pen. 

Crowley takes them, looking over the form, he signs quickly. Then hands it to his angel, who signs passing it back to the delivery man. 

Handing over an envelope, he tips his hat, “You two have a lovely night.”

Closing the door, he opens the envelope. He quickly reads it then hands it over to his angel. “Seems we are summoned to Gabriel’s trial.”

Principality Aziraphale and Demon Crowley, 

You are both herby summoned to the trial of the Archangel Gabriel. You are to testify to the events that transpired on the 11 October. Which resulted in the death of the Archangel Sandalphon, before the Council of Angels. You are expected tomorrow at noon. If you refuse, you are forfeiting your ability to testify to the allegations of the egregious acts the Archangel is so accused. 

I expect your attendance,  
G.

Crowley knows that look his angel is giving him. “We aren’t going.” He says, heading for the stairs. 

Aziraphale follows, “Crowley God summoned us.”

Removing his jewellery, he continues to their bedroom, “It could be a trap. It’s probably Gabriel trying to finish the job.”

Aziraphale stomps after his husband, “Crowley I have faith in Her. We are going.”

He removes his collar, placing it and the rest of his gilding in their box. “I know, but I don’t have faith in them.”

Aziraphale stands next to his husband, resting a hand on his shoulder, “We have to go. This might be our one chance of being safe.”

“Or our second chance at destruction.” groans Crowley sitting on the edge of their nest. 

Pulling up his dress, he climbs into Crowley’s lap, “She will protect us. I am sure of it.” he assures, wrapping his arms around his husband’s neck. 

He holds his angel, fearing for what they might face come tomorrow. “I really hope I am wrong.”


	22. A Trial of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trial!!!
> 
> (Quite a long chapter. Emotional smut, a trial, then just smut.)

1 November 2019

The Cottage

1:42 am

That night neither of them could sleep. Crowley’s mind was busy tormenting him with the thousands of scenarios they might face. Aziraphale was focusing on their testimony, continually replaying the events of that terrible day over in his memory. Wondering just how much Heaven knew about their current situation. They were thankful Gabriel didn’t appear to know about their child. Hopefully, they could keep the rest in the dark. 

They had removed their costumes but couldn’t bring themselves to redress. Laying naked in their nest for what Crowley was fearing might be the last time. His husband cradled Aziraphale, back pressed flush against him, as close as they could manage. A long elegant hand is caressing the little swell of his abdomen. The other arm is supporting his head. Tender kisses pressed to his shoulder. 

‘It will be fine. No stressing. God blessed us. Gave us a child. Surely she wouldn’t recall me to Heaven to watch her blessing be destroyed. I’ve never seen a trial. Perhaps Crowley could tell me about mine. It might help at least to know what we are facing. Lessen my stress.’

‘Please, God, I can’t lose this. I have to know they are safe. Please don’t hurt them because you are angry with me. I want to see our child. Watch them grow up. I want to hear them call me Dad. See them sleeping in peace in my angel’s arms. See them happy. I want Aziraphale to be happy. I need them to be safe. Please don’t take this from me.’

“Dearest?” Aziraphale breaks through the uncomfortable silence of their home. 

“Yes, dove?” Crowley answers somberly, nuzzling into his angel’s downy platinum ringlets. 

“My trial. That day...what was it like?” he brought his own hand to rest on the one caressing his stomach. 

‘Fuck. I can’t tell you that. Not now of all times.’ “It was...can we talk about s’methin else, angel?” he asks, kissing his angel’s ear. 

Turning his head to look into his husband’s golden eyes, “I need to know. You told me you breathed Hellfire at Gabriel and Sandalphon, but nothing more.”

‘I hoped to keep it that way. It is only going to hurt you.’ “I did. Why ask about this now?” he groans.

“It might help if I knew exactly what we were facing.” 

“Yeah, don’t think it will be much help.”

“Why ever not? I’ve never seen a trial before. Only yours and that was a sham.”

‘At least they had the decency to pretend.’ “Wasn’t much too it.”

“Who was there? I know the general makeup of The Council. I never bothered to find out who was on it.”

“The Council wasn’t there.”

“Oh?”

“Just Sandalphon, Gabriel the twat, and Uriel.”

“I wasn’t even afforded a formal trial. I know they disliked me, but to not get a formal hearing?” 'it doesn't make sense.'

“Please, let’s talk about something else. E’nything else.”

Aziraphale fully turns to look at his husband. 'You aren't telling me something.' Placing a hand on Crowley's bare chest, his blue eyes plead with his husband's stern serpent ones. “Crowley, this is important. I will need to know if it is brought up.”

'Why did God see fit to give you those eyes.' He turns on his back. Staring at the ceiling for a way out of their current line of conversation. “There isn’t much to tell.”

Frowning at the cool rebuttal, Aziraphale shoots off of the nest, coming up to straddle Crowley. Fixing his husband with an insistent glare. “There is something bothering you. What aren’t you telling me?”

'Please don't make me tell you. What they did to you wasn't right.' Again he can't meet his angel's stare. “Aziraphale I am begging you here. Drop it.” 

“No!" Grabbing his husband's face, he forces their eyes to meet. "Dearest, I need to know.”

“You didn’t have a trial!” Crowley shouts in frustration. “They dragged me up there, tied me to a chair. Called you a traitor. Then when I tried to plead your case, Gabriel told me to shut up and die already.” 'Fucking smug son of a bitch. I should have incinerated him that day.'

Aziraphale releases Crowley. It shouldn't hurt. He severed all ties with Heaven after the trial, but it does. “But that…” 'I didn't betray them. I loved you but never turned my back on God. I was only trying to protect Earth. Protect us. We were trying to stop Satan and his evil machinations. Where is the betrayal?' He felt the tears, felt his breath strangled in his throat.

'I didn't have to shout. Dammit. Don't cry over those fucks.' “See that is exactly why I didn’t want to discuss it.”

Hands wringing, he dissected his many conversations with Gabriel. “But I...I told them I was trying to stop the Apocalypse. They knew the whole time. I didn’t tell them I was working with you but…”

Crowley took his angel's fretting hands. “Dove, they didn’t even bring me up.”

“I see." He says, hanging his head. 'It was never about you. Never. They didn't care whom I spent time with.' "It was all about their bloody war.” Aziraphale climbs off his husband. Crossing their bedroom, he hastily grabs his floral robe and pulls it on. 

'Shit. You were never supposed to know. Damn you, Gabriel. And Damn me all over again.' “Where are you going.” he asks his retreating angel, springing from their nest.

Grasping the French doors, he flings them open. The cold early morning breeze bursts into their bedroom. “I just need a bit of air.” he can't help the whimpers that escape him. Gripping the iron rail of their terrace, knuckles white, grieving all the times he worried over those who would see him dead.

Crowley approaches slowly. Hands caressing satin clad shoulders. “Dove?”

“I...I always tried." He sobs, breath causing white wisps in the light that spilled from their home. "I tried to do the right thing. In the end, I guess none of that mattered.” Warm, strong arms envelop him.

“Don’t judge yourself by Gabriel and his cronies actions.”

Leaning into his husband's comforting presence, he asks on a pained whisper. “Do you think She knew?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps that is why Agnes made that last prophecy. Maybe it was God’s way of warning us.” Crowley tries to reassure, though he scarcely believes it himself.

'She must have.' “I suppose you are right.”

“Come back inside. It’s cold out here. Can’t be good for the baby.”

Aziraphale turns, wiping away the tears that cooled on his cheek, giving his husband a pensive smile, “Oh, right. Silly me.”

“C'mere." His angel folds into his embrace. "You aren't silly. Just a bit fussy." This earns him a little giggle. He kisses those delicate curls. 

“I love you, Crowley.”

“I love you too, dove.”

When he looks up at his husband, six thousand years of love stares back at him. Golden eyes so full of tender affection they nearly lose all reptilian qualities. 'Your love is the only thing that matters. You are such a wonderful husband. I just know you will be an amazing father.' His gaze travels down to Crowley's mouth. 

Crowley feels it deep in his essence. A sorrowful yearning calling out to him. He holds his angel flush against his chest. One hand tangled in silk strands. The other pressed to the small of Aziraphale's lower back. At this moment he couldn't help but remember the first night they made love. How scared they both were. The need they both felt. "Can I kiss you, dove?"

The answer is a kiss. No hesitation, no restraint, all his love poured from Aziraphale as their lips met. 'I love you. No matter what comes tomorrow know that I love you.'

Crowley's hands slip to his angel's thighs lifting, wrapping Aziraphale's legs around his waist. He walks them back to the nest. Gently lowering his angel down.

"Make love to me, Crowley." He pleads on a whisper.

"Always, dove."

Crowley's effort is welcomed into Aziraphale's warmth in one gentle thrust. The moment of connection brings his angel renewed tears. He rests his weight on his elbows, hands cupping his angel's cheeks, thumbs wiping away each drop that fell from those haunting blue eyes. Aziraphale's hands clung to his wrists as he set an agonisingly slow pace.

There was no rush, no urgency to their union. The tenderness of his cherished husband made his heart ache. The weight of Crowley's arousal as it thrust slowly into his own soothed away his worries. It was just them, sharing themselves with the other. Kisses were soft, lips meeting, tongues tasting in languid caresses. Eyes never breaking contact.

The ache they shared slowly built. With each measured thrust, they climbed unhurriedly to the summit. Breaths gave way to panting gasps. Aziraphale’s entire body trembling as he refused to let this moment of intimacy end. Nails digging into his husband’s wrists as his body clenches around the sensuous heat of Crowley’s length. 

“I love you, dove.” he purrs, hips steady, unyielding.

“I l-love...you, C-Crowley.” Aziraphale keens. The pleasure scraping at his senses.

“Please don’t cry, dove.” the throbbing need for release forcing him to focus on composing his words. “I hate seeing you so sad.”

“It-it’s...oh God...n-not from...sadness.” he moans, spreading his legs wider, back arching as his husband fills him.

A deep groan escapes Crowley as he fights against the urge to tumble from the peak, “W-what is it then? D-do you w-want me to s-s...stop?”

“No...I just...l-love y-you s...so much...s-sometimes it’s...overwhel...ming.” he nearly comes undone. An anguished moan escapes him before he can regain control “I...f-feel like...m-my heart...is is...unnha... cr-cracking op..open.”

“Let go, dove. I am r-right here.” his thrusts become more insistent. The steady waves of pleasure shift into barbs as Aziraphale's effort constricts. 

Aziraphale is sobbing, moaning, body rigid, trembling at his restraint, “I-I...oh...C-Crowley...I d-don’t want t-this to end.”

“I w-on’t le-let this end. I am yours,” he growls in determination. “They will not have you.” thrusting up purposely grazing that bundle of nerves over and over. He drags them off their pinnacle.

The world falls away from them both. Aziraphale crying out his release in a sharp wail of euphoria. Crowley growling deep in his chest as he sheathes himself fully in his angel. Spilling in throbbing pulses, watching his angel gasping, writhing beneath him. 

They both cleave to each other for a long moment. The haze of ecstasy receding, but their need for closeness intensifies. Without either needing to speak a word, their essences slip free. The darkness enveloping the light, holding his family in a shroud of protection. Their little one singing of love and joy. Both parents’ song harmonising to their child’s. They remain in their united embrace until the sun announces the new day. 

  
  
  


11:45 am

London

  
  


Outside the London entrance to Head Office, they sit in the assumed safety of the Bentley. Aziraphale clutching his husband’s hand, staring at the revolving doors. Nobody is going in or out. Neither knows whether it is a good or ill omen. 

"I hoped never to see this place again" Aziraphale confesses. 

"We don't have to go. Its not just our life we are risking. It’s our child's as well." ‘Say the word, and we are gone.’

‘We are doing this for them. We can’t run forever. It has to be done.’ "I know. And that's precisely why we must. If there's even a chance, this will protect us from further aggression.” He tears his eyes away from the cursed building to look to his husband, eyes imploring. “Crowley, we must try."

“I don’t like this.” ‘I don’t want you walking into their fucking hands. They want you destroyed.’

“I know, dearest. I wish we had a better option.” ‘We are doing this for our child.’

“I can think of a million other things we could be doing instead of walking into certain death.” ‘God watch over my angel. Please protect my family if I am unable.’

‘I have faith. We have to believe in Her.’ He takes a composing breath. “Death is absolutely not certain. We can do your million things after we have testified and are safely on our way.” 

Crowley presses a bruising kiss to his angel’s knuckles, “If there is any sign of danger you run. Don’t argue. You run and don’t stop. Find Anathema or somewhere safe to hide.”

“And what of you?” Aziraphale demands.

“I will find you. No matter how I have to. I will find you.” he promises, eyes focused behind dark lenses.

“Promise me.” blue eyes plead with gold.

“I promise, dove,” he says, pulling his angel into a passionate kiss. ‘I will always find you.’ After a long moment, they separate. Crowley huffs his displeasure, “Right. Let’s get this over with.”

They exit the Bentley and walk to the main entrance hand in hand. Both vigilant for any sudden attack. At the door, Crowley stops them, surveying the scene beyond. The main lobby is deserted. They both enter through the door just to the right of the revolving ones. Floor rippling as they make their way to the escalators. Crowley stepping on first, should they meet a threat once at the top.

As they crested the height of the escalator, they were greeted by a warm, welcoming smile. Before them stood a beautiful angel. Honey blonde hair, gentle brown eyes, soft, pleasant features, dressed in the palest of pink suits. 

“Peace be with you Principality Aziraphale. And you Demon Crowley.” came their amiable voice.

“Peace be with you Chamuel,” Aziraphale greets. ‘If you are here. Perhaps we have nothing to fear.’

Chamuel bows to them, “The Council of Angels has asked me to see you to the chambers. If you would follow me.”

‘Is this some trick?’ “So? What are we in for? More Hellfire?” Crowley asks as Chamuel begins to lead them to their destination.

The Archangel chuckles at the demon’s accusation, “Hardly. No, our brother seems to be in a great deal of trouble. Going against God’s orders. Trying to cover it up with lies and deceit. Very unbecoming behaviour for one in his position.” They say turning the corner heading toward two massive white doors. Flanked on either side by two Powers, kitted in full battle armour, holding golden spears. 

“What do you mean?” Asks Aziraphale. 

Chamuel stops a few feet from the two glowing angels, “Seems he tried to blame everything on you and your bondmate, Principality. Though evidence was discovered that hints to the contrary. I will let The Council explain the details.” they say with a sweet smile.

“Thank you, Chamuel.” nods Aziraphale. ‘At least there is one pleasant angel still in Heaven.’

With a dramatic flourish of their hand, the doors open, “Go in peace kin.”

The chamber beyond the doors is pristine. There is a marble stand facing a semi-circle of angels, three each representing the nine hierarchies. They are seated in high gloss white benches. Positioned around the room are more battle-ready Powers. In the centre, behind his elevated desk is The Metatron. To the far left, shackled in gold chains sat Gabriel. All the malice in the universe burning in his violet eyes. 

“Hey, arsehole. Long-time no see. How’s your pal Sandalphon? Gold’s your colour.” quips Crowley to the unamused Archangel. Gabriel sets his jaw and looks away.

Aziraphale turns his head so only Crowley could hear, “Dearest, under any other circumstances I would not mind your wit. But we aren’t in any position to make a mockery of these proceedings.”

‘It’s expected of me. You can play nice if you want.’ “Hopefully I will never get another chance to say that,” he whispers into his angel’s ear.

‘Well, perhaps you are right.’

Aziraphale works to identify those among The Council he has met. The Archangels are easy, their lot like to make themselves known. Jeremiel elegant in a lemon cream ensemble, Raguel in a dusty-blue dress, complimenting their cobalt eyes, and Uriel looking grim as she ever did. Next to them are the Seraphim. These three were, in fact, as their name implied burning beings of immense power. Eyes shifting flames, clad in gleaming gold armour over white robes. Aziraphale couldn’t help but envision his husband seated with them. Firey red hair, golden eyes, fierce beauty personified. ‘Do you miss them? Would you want to be one of them again? What would that mean for us?’

The Cherubim had not chosen to attend in their more monstrous form. Like the Seraphim, he had no knowledge of them personally. He could only identify one Throne. Pahaliah they, along with the other two, chose a more human appearance. Though the thousand eyes were still evident. The Dominions he knew by name only Vasiariah, Hashmal, and Muriel. He had never had so much as a passing conversation with them. The Virtues and Powers he was wholly without knowledge. 

The three Principalities he did know. Mebahiah was a bit of a know-it-all, though well-meaning. Imamiah was a fitting addition given her desire to help those redeem themselves from their mistakes. Nanael was quiet but a very brilliant mind. He couldn’t call them friends, but they would be fair at least.

The lesser angels he knew nothing of as well. They tended to be far too busy to spend time chatting with anyone for too long. And compared to the upper ranks who counted few in number, they were millions strong.

The only individuals that gave him any real reason for concern were Uriel and The Metatron. Though the latter was never directly involved in his attempted execution. 

They approached the stand together. Two chairs were provided side by side. Their every movement scrutinised by their hosts. Crowley feigned indifference to the best of his demonic abilities. 

The Metatron spoke, “The Council of Angels recognises the Principality Aziraphale and The Demon Crowley. You have been summoned before this council by God the Almighty to testify in truth to the events that transpired at the Principality’s Earthly residence. On the eleventh of October of this year.”

Aziraphale held his husband’s hand firmly. ‘Thank you for always being at my side.’ “We are prepared to give our testimony.”

The Metatron nods his approval, “Please have a seat. The Council would like to acquaint you with the proceedings thus far.”

They both take the offered chairs. Crowley, as usual, reclining as if he was unconcerned with the twenty-five angels currently casting him disapproving glares. Though Aziraphale could tell by the tension in his hand, he was uncomfortable. ‘I will make this up to you.’

The Metatron continues, “This Council and subsequently, The Host at large was informed that God has placed your persons under Her divine protection. The accused asked for the honour of notifying you of the holy mandate. Upon returning from his duties, the accused informed the Archangel Michael of the death of the Archangel Sandalphon. The accused stated that he and the Archangel Sandalphon were set upon by the two of you. He claimed the Principality caused the utter destruction of the latter. God ordered a formal investigation into the matter. This is the evidence The Council uncovered. Please direct your attention to the screen.”

A transparent crystalline panel descended from the ceiling. The room dimmed from blinding white to something more normal by Earthly standards. 

The screen blinks to life. Aziraphale and Crowley look to one another, realising it is an aerial view of the front of the bookshop. 

The video begins: _ Crowley leaves the bookshop and enters the Bentley. Time speeds up. The feed resumes after fifteen minutes have passed. Gabriel and Sandalphon approach and enter the bookshop. Moments later, Crowley materialises on the steps. He tries to open the door but is unsuccessful.  _

_ He begins pounding on the window furiously. He screams, “YOU FUCKING BASTARDS! LEAVE MY ANGEL ALONE!” He tries punching through the window, leaving bloody prints on the glass. He steps back and tries to freeze time. The world around him stops. He is suddenly at the window again.  _

_ “GABRIEL TAKE ME! IF YOU WANT BLOOD I’M HERE! I WON’T EVEN FIGHT BACK!” Crowley punches the window.  _

_ He suddenly goes still. Crowley steps back onto the sidewalk. He holds his arms towards the bookshop. Six fiery wings erupt from his back. Flaming tendrils bleed into the shop front. The light is bright, nearly obscuring the camera’s view. Crowley lets out a furious roar and pulls his hands wide. The bookshop’s front explodes. Splinters of wood and shards of glass rained down around him. The wings are gone in the same instant.  _

_ He walks into the destroyed shop front as a bright orange light erupts from the interior, entirely obscuring the screen. When the light fades, Crowley shouts “AZIRAPHALE!” staggering into the bookshop. The camera sees him fall to his knees before Aziraphale.  _

The screen goes blank, and the panel returns to its place. Turning to his husband, he clasps Crowley’s hand between both of his own. The tears are there, though he refuses to let them fall before The Council. ‘You tried to sacrifice yourself for us. I can not bear the thought. You and I will talk about this once this is all over.’

Crowley sees the glistening of unshed tears in his angel’s eyes. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I know I am going to get an ear full.’

The Metatron calls to Crowley, “As you are the main focus of the evidence at hand The Council would like to hear your testimony first Demon Crowley.”

“Yea’s.” Crowley looks to their hands. Giving one last squeeze, he stands before The Council. Hands are pushed firmly into his pockets. “Alright, what would you have me say?” he asks with every ounce of the cavalier persona he has cultivated over 6,000 years. 

“The truth. If a Fallen is even capable of such a thing.” barks Uriel. Her disdain for a demon’s presence clearly on display.

‘Yes, you miserable fuck. Let’s see just how much you like the truth.’ “Oh, the truth is it? And where would The Council like me to begin?” he asks, mockingly bowing before them. “I could start with the day Gabriel, Sandalphon and Uriel there abducted my angel?” he says in a haughty questioning grimace, “Dragged Aziraphale right up here and tried to destroy the one decent angel among you.” Chatter broke out amongst the council members. 

The Metatron gave Uriel a considered look before answering, “If you would like you may begin there. The Council has uncovered the unsanctioned attempt on the Principality Aziraphale’s life. We were going to ask them to testify. If you would like to share your knowledge of the events you are welcome to. We understand Gabriel gave the orders himself.”

“Oh, unsanctioned? Well, the accused as you call him, set his dogs loose on us at the park. Uriel and Sandalphon took Aziraphale and brought him up here. They tied him to a chair. They were going to allow the demon who brought the Hellfire to attack him while he was restrained. Then without so much as the false trial I got, ordered him to step into the Hellfire.”

“You were witness to this?” asked one of the Powers. 

‘Shit. They can’t know.’ “No, I was in Hell taking a holy bath.”

“You can not testify to events you did not witness.” Uriel snarls. 

Crowley locks his gaze with Uriel, “Then ask Aziraphale.” 

Aziraphale stands, “Every word is true.”

“Is it your testimony that a member of The Council willingly took part in your attempted destruction?” inquires The Metatron.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says proudly. Hearing Gabriel’s chains shift, he refuses to look at his former superior.

The Metatron stands and waves over the two Powers at the right of the chamber. “Uriel you are relieved of your duties to this council. You will be remanded pending further investigation.”

The two Powers move to either side of the Archangel. Uriel rises and is escorted from the room, pausing only momentarily to glare at the pair. Crowley sneers at her in roguish delight. ‘Not so much fun being on the other end of things, is it?’

  
  


The sound of a spear shaft striking the floor calls everyone back to attention. The Metatron speaks, “We call the Archangel Chamuel to assume the vacant seat on this council.”

Walking into the room, Chamuel gives them both a sweet smile. “It is an honour to serve on The Council.” They take their position amongst the others. Something tells Aziraphale that they were expecting this turn of events all along.

Once the chamber comes back to order The Metatron gestures with a wave of his hand, “Demon Crowley if you will please continue.”

‘Maybe this isn’t just a farce.’ “Gladly.” he addresses the flock of angels once more, “I went out to pick up a few items at a nearby market. Figured I wouldn’t be gone more than thirty minutes. I felt…” glancing back at Aziraphale, he considers. “I felt like I should get back to the bookshop.”

“Felt?” asks one of the Cherubim. 

‘Maybe I shouldn’t tell them this part. Not sure what they could do with it. I’ll blame it on the bonding.’ “I can sense Aziraphale’s emotions.”

“You are able to sense how the Principality feels?” Questions another Principality. There is worry in their expression.

‘No it doesn’t extend to just any Principality.’ “Yes. Alright. Do you want me to continue?” he groans indignantly.

Chamuel raises a hand, “One last question on the matter. What did you perceive the Principality was feeling?”

‘Something I hope to never sense again.’ “Terror.”

“So that’s when you returned to the bookshop?” inquires a Throne.

“Yes. Tried miracling right inside but couldn’t. Ended up on the steps.” the memory settled in his stomach like a cold stone. Looking at the polished white floors, he can’t meet the eyes studying him. 

“What did you see upon returning to the shop?” asked Chamuel sweetly.

‘That fucker over there. I wanted to kill him.’ “Gabriel and Sandalphon were inside. The doors were locked, and I couldn’t get in. I tried breaking the glass, but that prick did something to prevent me from entering.” Crowley’s jaw was clenching and unclenching. ‘I almost lost you. I can’t keep failing you like this. You and our child will be safe.’

Aziraphale knew he was growing increasingly agitated. Slipping a hand into the top of his husband’s pocket, he encouraged Crowley to take it. He did, entwining their fingers. A fleeting genuine smile was flashed across his beautiful features. ‘I love you. I am here.’ Aziraphale smiles back.

A Seraph questions him next, “You offered yourself in exchange for the Principality. Why?”

“Love. I have loved Aziraphale from the moment we met. Not that you lot would understand such things. " he says almost to himself, but the acoustics in the room make it so everyone can hear. "I saw Sandalphon with a flaming sword. Aziraphale saw me and...I knew they meant to… to...kill my angel.” The words had to be forced out. His hand tightened on Aziraphale’s. ‘I was too weak to protect you.’

“We saw you freeze the humans. Why would you need to freeze them?” questions a Power.

“Wasn’t the humans I froze.” Crowley groans.

“What was it then?” asks Chamuel.

‘Fuck it. You want the truth.’ “Time. I tried to buy Aziraphale time to escape. It didn’t work.”

“Time? You expect The Council to believe a rankless demon can control time?” a Throne all but shouts this question. 

‘Kiss my arse you wagon wheel with eyeballs.’ “I wasn’t always a demon.” He points to the Seraphim in attendance. “They know me.”

One of the Seraphim stands, “I am afraid you are mistaken demon. We have no knowledge of you.”

‘Hello to you too, Jehoel.’ “Not as I am now. But you did once.” He removes his sunglasses.

“No. You can’t be.” another Seraph gasps.

‘Seraphiel. Somehow knew you would be mixed up in all this.’ “I am quite a lot of things these days. Try me.”

“Samael?” asks Seraphiel.

“Oh, so you do remember. Here I was beginning to believe you all didn’t care,” he says with a mocking pout.

The Metatron booms his command, “This council will come to order. Demon Crowley former Seraph Samael you were telling The Council you froze time.”

‘Enough of the family reunion.’ “Yes, but it didn’t affect anything on the inside of the shop.”

“Then?” asks Jehoel.

‘Then, I lost it. Wanted to tear apart the world to get to my angel, my family. Wanted to destroy that pile of shit you have fettered in gold.’ “Then I saw Sandalphon moving towards Aziraphale. It...I...I did what you saw on the video.”

“What did you do?” asks a Cherubim. 

‘Something I wasn’t sure I could anymore.’ “I reached into the fabric of existence, down to the atoms and ripped them apart. Gabriel couldn’t control what no longer existed.” He shrugs.

“You materialise the wings of a Seraph?” The Archangel Raguel asks cooly.

‘Just as surprised as you were.’ “Didn’t know about that until just now.” Chatter once again broke out through the council members.

“You attempted to enter the bookshop?” asks a Throne.

“Yeah got knocked on my arse,” Crowley smirks. ‘Thanks kiddo.’

“What caused that light?” inquires Chamuel.

‘Nope. That you won’t get out of me.’ “Um...not sure. Some orangey sigil circle thing or some such. Figured it was divine intervention.”

“From God?” asks a lesser angel with a hopeful smile.

“What my guess was.” ‘S’not a lie really.’

“What happened after you went into the shop?” inquires Chamuel.

“I made sure Aziraphale was all right. Gabriel was on the floor, and O'l Sandalphon was a pile of ash. Gabriel disappeared.” he cut the chained archangel a murderous glare. ‘I would love to see you join your potato.’ In return, Gabriel rolled his purple eyes in revulsion.

The Metatron spoke. “Thank you, Demon Crowley, for your testimony. We appreciate the risk you took coming here today.” 

He sits, legs crossed resting on the rail of the stand. “Well when the Missus commands I must obey.” he winks at Aziraphale. Who gives his feet a disapproving look. ‘C’mon they don’t expect much from me.’

“Principality Aziraphale you are called to the stand.” commands The Metatron.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says hands stopped from smoothing down his clothing. They had intentionally selected a loose-fitting dress that concealed the minuscule bump. The cardigan's oversized shape also helped.

“You alone, beyond the deceased, and the accused know the exact events that transpired within your bookshop.” The Metatron informs.

'God, preserve me.' “Yes.” he smiles, nervously, “I was upstairs waiting for Crowley to return home. I heard the bell above the shop door and thought it was my husband returning.”

“Husband?” asks Muriel in puzzlement.

‘Yes. Husband. Seriously it is not that difficult to comprehend.’ “Ah, well. We are not only bonded, but we also practise the human custom of matrimony.” he beams holding up his hand. The little black serpent's scales glittered in the harsh light.

“How is it an angel and demon came to be bonded? It isn’t even done anymore.” grumbles the boisterous Throne from before.

‘It is now.’ “Well, you will have to ask God. I love my husband very much, and the bonding happened, well...naturally. I’d rather not go into detail. It is a private matter, after all.” Aziraphale says as if scolding a group of naughty children who asked an impertinent question.

“You are not here to testify to your private endeavours. And council members will refrain from further questioning on the pair’s relationship.” orders The Metatron.

“As I was saying.” Aziraphale slips back on his friendly demeanour. “I thought my husband had returned. When I went to greet him, I saw Gabriel and Sandalphon. Gabriel ordered me to return to Heaven. To which I refused.”

“Ordered? Please be specific. What did the accused say?” Raguel asks eyes quickly, glancing at Gabriel.

‘Oh, let me tell you.’ “He commented on the change in my corporation. He told me I was to return to Heaven, make a formal confession. Repent my treason as he calls it. He said he believed my husband tempted me away from my duties. Which he did not.”

“You are certain of this?” scoffs the annoying Throne.

‘I have had quite enough out of you.’ “Certain my husband never tempted me? Yes. More certain than I am of anything. I trust Crowley more than I do that this council will deliver justice.” Aziraphale says meeting the Throne’s many eyes.

“Bold words,” Archangel Raguel smirks.

“You asked for the truth did you not?” he says, cutting the Throne another silencing look.

“Please continue Principality.” The Metatron groans.

‘Where was I. Ah, yes.’ “Gabriel threatened me. He said that though the Hellfire didn’t work, they had other ways of dealing with traitors. I told them to leave. I informed him I would not renounce my husband under any circumstances.” He pulled a piece of paper from his cardigan pocket, “I showed him this letter.” He presents it to The Council.

A Power walks over and delivers the letter to The Metatron. Looking over the words quickly, he passes it back. “We are aware that you have God’s sanction for your bonding.” The Power returns the letter to Aziraphale.

“Gabriel said it was a forgery. Though, now I believe that was to incite a confrontation of some sort. I demanded Gabriel and Sandalphon leave. That’s when I saw my husband had returned. Gabriel ordered Sandalphon to attack me. Which as you can imagine was quite alarming. He told me I would be forced to return to Heaven by being discorporated if I did not go willingly that I would be forced to renounce my husband and brought back into the fold. Whatever that was supposed to mean.” He felt a gentle caress at his elbow. ‘I love you too, dearest. And I do not blame you.’

“Forced? Under what means did he intend to force you to renounce your bondmate?” Archangel Raguel asks, shifting forward in her chair.

‘Probably making me listen to The Sound of Music on repeat.’ “I can not say. Though he did say, eternity was a very long time. I imagine I would at the least be kept here against my will until I was compliant with his demands.”

“Please, what happened after Gabriel threatened you with discorporation?” Archangel Chamuel asks sweetly.

“Sandalphon advanced with a flaming sword. Overkill if you ask me. Then Crowley destroyed the front of my bookshop.” he turns to his husband, “Which I am not cross about, dearest.” returning to The Council he continues. “Gabriel ordered Sandalphon to strike before Crowley could reach us. He was bringing his sword down. There was a sudden light and Sandalphon was destroyed.” 

“Did you destroy the Archangel Sandalphon?” asks the Principality Nanael.

“No. I am not powerful enough for all that.” Aziraphale admits with a nervous smile. 

“What or who destroyed Sandalphon?” barks the bothersome Throne.

‘What do I say?’ “I...it was…” ‘If they find out about our baby? We have God’s protection. Surely that extends to our child.’

“Please tell The Council the truth. Whomever it was, was acting in your defence. They will not be prosecuted for intervening on your behalf.” The Metatron commands.

Aziraphale looks to Crowley. ‘I have to.' His eyes conveying his regrets.

Crowley instantly sits up, taking his angel’s hand. He shakes his head, eyes screaming, ‘Don’t do this. You will endanger them.’

‘I am sorry, my love.’ Aziraphale squeezes his hand. ‘It will be all right. I have faith.’

Turning back to The Council, he brings a hand to rest on his belly, “It was our child.” an audible gasp echoes through the chamber.

“YOUR WHAT?” Shouts the Throne standing aghast at the implications.

‘Why must you be here?’ “Our child protected us,” Aziraphale says louder for the obnoxious Throne. “They destroyed Sandalphon out of self-preservation. If I was discorporated, our child might not have survived.”

“Angels do not have offspring.” the obtuse Throne challenges.

“This one does.” Aziraphale says with pride, “Eleven weeks and four days into the pregnancy to be exact. I assure you it was a shock to us as well. God came to me in a dream and informed me Herself. She has named our baby Etzbael.”

There is a malicious chuckle from the side of the chamber. Everyone is silent, looking to the origin. “You fucking demon loving whore. That abomination should be ripped from you and cast into the abyss.” Gabriel says in disgust.

A dark desire floods Crowley’s mind, “What the fuck did you say?”

“I said, demon.” Purple eyes glaring at gold. “That thing inside that disgrace who dares call itself an angel should be destroyed. Along with the host.”

Crowley rushes from the stand towards the chained Archangel. The chamber erupts in chaos, several of the Council members call for Crowley’s imprisonment. Several more call for Gabriel to be removed for his taunting outburst. The three Seraphim and the guarding Powers stop him. He growls low in his chest. The primal urge to tear into the offending Archangel has his serpent eyes fully on display. 

“He will be punished Samael. Don’t let him provoke you.” Seraphiel begs so only he can hear.

“What the fuck do you care Seraphiel?” growls Crowley pacing his frustration.

“You were my brother once. You have a bondmate that doesn’t need to see their husband destroyed because he can’t control his anger.” her words are gentle and low.

Crowley glares at her. ‘Since when are you the voice of reason?’ “Fine.” he begrudgingly returns to his seat. The Council is still in an uproar. 

Aziraphale grasps his husband’s arm, “Please calm down. It was only idle words from a creature in chains. He has no power here.” 

The Seraphim return to their seats. Encircled around Gabriel, the guarding Powers are an imposing barrier to any further attempts on the Archangel’s person. The Metatron shouts over the chorus of angry voices all arguing their points, “I will have order in these chambers. Those who disrupt that order will be removed or returned to their cell.” The Council falls silent.

“I CONFESS!” shouts Gabriel from his seat behind the wall of Powers.

“The accused wishes to make a formal confession?” asks The Metatron.

“Yes,” he says standing. “I confess that I tried to destroy Aziraphale. I knew the little idiot was trying to avert the Apocolypse. The only reason I allowed him to try was because he is such a failure at being an angel; there was no way he was going to succeed.” 

Aziraphale faces his former superior square on. Crowley grips the railing the marble cracking in his grasp.

Pointing a finger in Aziraphale’s direction, Gabriel continues. “He took away our chance at settling things with Hell. He took away my chance at a glorious victory. He sided with the opposition. He’s carrying a Hellspawn for fuck’s sake. Do any of you see how insane this all is? He deserves destruction. And if God expects me to turn a blind eye and allow this perversion to exist than I no longer wish to serve God.”

Yet again The Council almost unanimously draws a startled breath. “You are asking to Fall?” questions Raguel.

Gabriel laughs at his fellow Archangel’s query, “I am asking to be free of this madness.”

“Archangel Gabriel if you do not serve God then you will be cast out. Is that what you are requesting as the punishment for your crimes?” inquires The Metatron with a grave expression. 

“I welcome it,” smirks Gabriel.

The Metatron nods, “What says The Council? The accused confesses to his crimes. His actions resulted in the death of the Archangel Sandalphon. He has renounced his allegiance to God the Almighty. He requests to be cast out of Heaven and damned for all eternity. All those in agreement say aye.”

All angels in attendance from the lowest to the most high all shout their agreement. “Aye.”

“Didn’t see that one coming,” Crowley says, leaning into his angel’s ear.

“Nor did I,” admits Aziraphale.

The Metatron stands, “Gabriel, you are at this moment stripped of your rank and all powers accompanying such title. You are reduced to that of a first sphere angel. You are henceforth banished from both Heaven and Earth for all eternity. Damned to the pits of Hell as so requested. Any final words.”

The Council all turn in attention. Gabriel sneers “All Hail Satan.”

Beneath the former Archangel the floor cracks. The Powers retire to a safe distance. Fire licks at the pale grey hem of his trousers. As the chasm expands a polished shoe slips into the flames. A chard blistered arm reaches up and takes hold of Gabriel’s leg. He tries to shake free, but another hand grasps his other leg, then another. Soon Gabriel is screaming as the arms pull him off balance. He hits the floor in a loud thud. The Council watches in horror as the once formidable Archangel is dragged to Hell. He is crying out as he plummets to the brimstone below.

“Enjoy the Fall,” Crowley smirks as the fissure closes.

The chamber is deathly silent. The Metatron turns to the pair. Addressing the Council in an imperious voice, "Under God's Divine writ no angel is to interfere, threaten, or in any manner cause harm or even inconvenience the Principality Aziraphale or their bondmate Crowley. To do so will result in immediate imprisonment, possible banishment to Hell, or depending on the gravity of the offence, destruction. All in attendance are required to make your peers and subordinates aware that the Principality Aziraphale and the Demon Crowley are under God's personal protection. As well as any offspring they might have now or in the future." The Council all nod their acquiescence. “The Council is adjourned.”

As everyone makes to leave a sudden weight falls over the chamber. The Council members all stop and bow. Crowley and Aziraphale turn to see God in divine radiance standing in the doorway. "My Lord." Aziraphale bows hurridly. Crowley averts his eyes, sliding his sunglasses back into place. He can not look at Her out of shame. 

God approaches her favoured children, "Principality Aziraphale. My blessed Aziraphale." God kneels before him kissing his stomach. "Grow strong little one." She coos to their baby. Rising again She addresses the mother to be, "I would ask you Aziraphale how would you like to fill a vacant position as Archangel?"

"My Lord?" Aziraphale gapes at the offer. 

"It would afford you more autonomy. You would report only to me. And you would be my paramount Earthly representative." She informs, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

"It is an honour, my Lord. But…" ‘My family. My husband. I can not stay in Heaven. I will not be separated from Crowley.’ "But...I...I will remain with my husband. Whatever that means." 

An elegant eyebrow is raised, "Who said anything about you leaving your husband? No Aziraphale you will remain on Earth. With your husband and child. I will rarely impose upon you. It’s just a long-overdue promotion." Her smile is warm and earnest. 

‘An Archangel? I never dreamed.’ "In that case. I would be honoured, my Lord."

"Good." She says giving Aziraphale a firm pat. Her attention turns to Crowley, "Hello, Samael."

‘No. Don't call me that. I do not deserve your kindness. Please don’t look at me like this.’ "I am no longer that angel."

She steps closer to Her former Seraph, laying a motherly hand on his face. Crowley presses that hand firmly to him. His breath ragged, fighting back tears. Shutting his eyes tightly, he clings to the touch he has yearned for since that day. “My son. I still love you.”

‘Why? Why love me and cast me out?’ “But you can not forgive me.”

“Have you found one that would repent?” She asks gently.

“No, Mother.” He finally does look at Her. “I tried.”

“I know My son. But you must try again. You will know when the moment is right.” She says brushing a thumb over a sharp cheekbone. Crowley nods and forces himself to pull away from Her tender affection. “Metatron inform the others of Archangel Aziraphale’s promotion.”

“Yes, my Lord.” The Metatron bows.

“I will be in touch.” She says, smiling at the pair before turning from the room.

They watch as She glides down the hall and out of sight. Crowley star in agony as she disappears. Taking his husband's hand, Aziraphale whispers, "Come my love. Let's go home."

2:00 pm

Once they are outside seated in the Bentley, Aziraphale turns to his husband, “Well, that all worked out for the best.”

Crowley puts the keys in the ignition and the old car roars to life. "There'll be no living with you after this," he grumbles.

‘No living with me? What have I done?’ "Aren't you pleased, dearest?" 

‘That we aren’t dead, yes. That Gabriel is free to roam Hell no.’ “You shouldn’t have told them about our baby.” he says, pulling into the flow of traffic. 

‘I know we agreed to not speak of them.’ “They would have found out eventually.” ‘Please don’t be angry with me. I did what I thought was best.’

“Yes, but now Gabriel knows.” ‘He knows, and he is in Hell. I am sure he is running his fucking mouth to anyone who will listen. How long before we have them busting down our door?’

‘Gabriel?’ “He is banished.” 

‘Banished. Heaven may be in check for now, but he is still a threat.’ "Doesn't stop him from coming after us. He's Fallen now."

‘You are overreacting. He is diminished and cast out.’ "He can not set foot on Heaven or Earth. What can he do?" Aziraphale shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 

"Send others," he says, face stern as he grips the steering wheel. ‘Sure Hastur is chomping at his maggoty bit to settle the score.’

Aziraphale tsks, "Whom would he send. Gabriel has no friends below."

‘It’s not some discreet gentlemen’s club, angel.’ "Nobody has friends below. But we have plenty of enemies," he says in exasperation. 

“I know that.” Aziraphale pouts, “And I am aware that was difficult for you up there.”

‘Oh, no, it was great. Wanted to shove my snakeskin boot right up that wanker’s ass.’ “You could say that.” he groans.

‘Perhaps this isn’t the right time. You already seem so angry. No, best, get all the unpleasantness over with before we return home.’ Placing a tender hand on his husband’s thigh, he turns to face him, "Crowley about the video."

‘Yea I would like to know about that as well.’ "I don't know e’nythin bout the wings. Didn't even know that a’ppened." he says focused on the road. 

"Yes, I was going to discuss that as well, but what you said to Gabriel. That day." ‘I couldn’t hear any of that. He must have blocked sound as well.’

"Oh. Yeah...that bit." ‘Shit knew I was going to hear about that.’

"Yes, that bit.” Aziraphale scolds. “Crowley I know we've discussed it already, but you can not sacrifice yourself for me."

"I'm not agreeing to that." he glares at his angel.

"Crowley, listen to me.” shifting closer, he rests his head on his husband’s shoulder. “I value your life. I will not have you throwing it away on my account." 

"It’s my job," he grumbles.

"Your job?" Aziraphale sits up blue eyes studying his husband. ‘How is dying your job?’

"My job is to protect you and our child. And I mean to do that job, no matter the cost.” Crowley sets his jaw. ‘What was it you said to me?’ “What would you do if our roles were reversed?"

‘Fine. You are right. If I were in your position, I would feel the same.’ "Crowley, please. I don't wish to quarrel. Just promise me you will not throw yourself needlessly into harm's way." ‘Give me that at least.’

‘Protecting you isn’t needless.’ "Needlessly. Yeah got it."

‘I know what you just agreed to.’ "I love you." Aziraphale rests his head against his husband’s shoulder in momentary defeat.

"Love you too." Crowley kisses his angel’s forehead.

“Are you angry with me?” ‘You seem angry. I am sorry, my love. I know I can be difficult.’

“No, dove.” he sighs, wrapping an arm around his angel. “I am not angry. Just worried is all.” ‘We need a plan.’

A spark of his own mischief strikes. Aziraphale kisses his husband’s strong jaw. “Perhaps you just need a distraction?”

“Distraction?” the tone in his angel’s voice let him know they weren’t talking about a round of chess. ‘Seriously, after all that?’

“Well, we were interrupted last night as I recall. And…” A hand finds his husband’s effort, as he kisses the side of Crowley’s mouth. “I seem to remember something about a challenge you agreed to.” Aziraphale sits back with a provocative smile.

‘Wicked, deliciously devious angel.’ “I believe I did, dove.” His effort already responding to his angel’s delicate touch. 

“When we get home, I would very much like to commence with that challenge,” Aziraphale announces straightening his dress.

‘I have to focus on the road, but you don’t.’ “How about we start now?” he asks, looking over his enticing angel sitting primly beside him. 

“What did you have in mind?” inquires Aziraphale grinning out the window. 

“Well…”Crowley brings up his fingers and snaps. Without looking over at his angel, he retrieves his phone from his pocket.

Aziraphale is caught by surprise. Something is nestled inside of him. Cutting his husband a curious look, he asks, “Crowley what on Earth did…” Crowley slides a finger across the screen of his phone. Instantly the object comes to life. With a startled twitch he gasps, “OH!...oh my...what in...Crowley dearest…” he presses his legs closed. The little object sending pleasurable vibrations into the little bundle of nerves. 

He knows the answer. The sudden pulsing waves tell him everything he needs to know, but he asks anyway. “Feels good, dove?”

“What is it?” he asks, shifting. ‘It’s pleasing but not enough.’

Crowley sees his angel’s face trying to puzzle out what is going on, “Little human invention I figured we could try out.” With a flick of his finger, his angel nearly lurches off the seat. “Do you like it, dove?”

The vibration intensified almost immediately. He feels his whole body respond. The sensation tantalising, slowly the pooling pleasure swells within him. “Crowley...mmmye...yes.” he sighs on a moan.

“More, dove?” he purrs. Part of him wants to pull the Bentley over and take in this beautiful feast for his eyes alone. The other wants to push the old girl to her limits to get them home faster. 

“Please.” Aziraphale keens hand clutching the fabric of his dress near the throbbing need. 

Crowley swipes his phone again and Aziraphale curls into his side, face buried in his shoulder. The gasping breaths on his neck make his own effort painfully hard in his leathers. ‘That’s right, dove. God, the sounds you make.’ “You alright, dove?” he purrs. The overwhelming barbs of pleasure already answering for his angel. Little whimpers and the nod in response is merely cursory. A desperate trembling hand pulls his face towards his angel. 

“K-kiss me. P-please kiss me.” Aziraphale begs as the muscles in his body begin to tense. Blue eyes painfully lost to pleasure, staring up at his husband. Crowley momentarily obliges his angel. Mouths meet, tongues seeking, Aziraphale’s moans breathed between them. 

Crowley has to pull away suddenly to return his focus to the road. His angel whimpers, kissing his neck in consolation. He feels Aziraphale’s teeth graze against his pulse. “Go ahead, dove.” There is one last sensuous slide of tongue before teeth bare down. It’s all the restrain Crowley has not to take his angel then and there. Groaning, he feels the sudden burst of his angel’s release crash into him.

Aziraphale comes undone, convulsing against Crowley’s side. Hand grasping at his husband’s lapel, moaning into the wool of his coat. The little machine’s vibration slowly recedes. Clinging to Crowley, he slowly composes himself.

“I’ll take that as you enjoyed it, dove?” Crowley asks slyly kissing the crown of his angel’s head.

“Very much, my love.” he snuggles closer. ‘That was exhilarating.’

‘Oh, I’m not done with you.’ “How about another?” he swipes his thumb sending the little contraption into full gear. 

Aziraphale gasps, nearly curling in on himself. His effort already sensitive from his recent climax he finds himself trembling all over again. A hand cups his breast, but through the thickness of the dress, it is not nearly what he needs. ‘I want to be home in your arms. Damn this dress.’ “Crowley I…”

Crowley sees the agonised look on his angel’s face. “What is it, dove? What do you need?” They are on the A3 driving at breakneck speed. 

“Crowley I can...This dress…” Aziraphale whimpers, brows furrowed in frustration. 

“Just take it off, dove.” Crowley offers, sliding his hand up his angel’s inner thigh. 

“S-someone... will see.” he breathes as he feels his husband’s fingers push his panties aside. Finding the little bud between his folds, Crowley begins to press in circling motions. Aziraphale's own hand cover’s his husband’s as he spreads his legs to allow more access. 

Crowley releases the steering wheel momentarily to tap the roof of the Bentley. Windows suddenly darken obscuring any chance of another motorist peering in. “Now they won’t.”

“But..” Aziraphale pushes into his husband’s caress.

He pulls his hand away, “Dove, we live in the middle of nowhere. I’m going to park in our garage. N’body besides me is going to see e’nything.” 

In desperation, Aziraphale hastily pulls the dress over his head. Bra unclasped and tossed aside freeing is breasts. He takes a nipple between his fingers, rolling, kneading at the flesh. Crowley’s hand is instantly back on him. Worrying the little bud with renewed insistence. The small machine urging him to his peak with intense vibrations inside him. His head fell to the seat, back arching as another orgasm tears through his corporation. Moaning his husband’s name as he convulses through each aftershock. 

Crowley removes his hand, finding his phone he turns the toy down. “I think we are going to have to keep this around, dove.” he grins, pulling his nearly nude angel into him once more.

‘It’s fun but not the same.’ Aziraphale’s hand slips to his husband's hard arousal, “Crowley, I need you.”

‘Fuck.’ “Got to keep my eyes on the road, dove.” a swipe of his thumb and the contraption begins vibrating in revving pulses. “Just relax. We’ll be home in oh...about an hour,” he smirks. ‘Wonder if you can keep this up that long?’

Aziraphale’s effort clutches around the little gadget. ‘I am not going to be alone this time.’ “Two can play this game dearest.” Focusing on unfastening the snakehead belt, he bites his bottom lip. 

“What are you doing?” he asks in surprise as the button of his pants is undone, and the zipper slides down. 

Aziraphale says nothing as he frees his husband’s effort from their leather confines. In one confident manoeuvre, he takes him entirely into his mouth. Tongue pressing against the shaft as he works Crowley’s arousal in long sucking motions. Rising up he takes the length in hand, stroking in firm twisting pumps of his wrist. Tongue flicking against the velvety head.

It is all Crowley can do to keep the Bentley on course. His effort disappears once more into the hot depths of his angel’s throat. Head bobbing, tongue pressing, mouth providing suction. He fumbles for his phone and turns the toy up to its full strength. The moan that escapes his angel is hummed into his throbbing arousal. It’s his turn to gasp, hips aching to thrust up. His free hand grasping platinum curls. Teeth gritting as his own release nears. A strangled groan escapes him as his angel forces him in, to the hilt. 

No need to breathe Aziraphale pulses only slightly, forcing Crowley as deep in his throat as possible. Moaning as his own climax nears once more. He draws up the full length before pressing back down. His husband groaning his name each time he takes his arousal in completely. 

Aziraphale can stave off his own orgasm no longer. Sheathing Crowley one last time his moaning ecstasy is carried into his husband's effort. Moments later with a deep growl, and a harsh thrust up, he feels Crowley’s release spilling into him. When he feels the grip in his hair relax, he sits up.

His demon’s serpent eyes are blown wide. He is struggling to compose himself. Aziraphale takes the phone that has been discarded on the seat and pushes it into his hands. Swiping the screen, the toy turns off. 

Crowley clears his throat, “Fine. Understood. Get us home.”

They arrive home in half the time it should have taken for the journey from London. Scrambling from the Bentley, they stumble into their home. Crowley wanting to waste no time strips as he goes. His angel’s arms around his neck, hands pulling at his hair, mouths demanding. 

They all but fall into the kitchen. The only clothing still clinging to him are his leather pants and boxers. Crowley picks his angel up and plants Aziraphale on the counter. “My turn, dove.” Ripping the lace panties from his angel, he casts them to the floor. Swiping his phone once more, turning the gadget back up to full strength. He kneels before Aziraphale, thighs resting on his shoulders. Hands tangle in his hair, gripping tight. Mouth claiming that bead of pleasure between his angel’s plump folds. Flicking his tongue, providing suction, he coaxes his angel to the summit. The pulses of pleasure are intense and demanding. Panting rapid moans urge him on. 

Carefully he slips two fingers into his angel’s entrance. He pushes under the toy, pressing firmly up into the bundle of nerves. His angel comes undone almost instantly. Thighs clamping around him, grip nearing painful in his hair. Removing the pink device, he continues working the fleshy pearl with his tongue until his angel relaxes back against the wall. 

Kissing his angel’s luscious thigh, he purrs, “You still want me, dove?” The little device and his phone are tucked into his pocket. ‘For later.’

“Yes, my love.” Aziraphale sighs, combing his fingers through his husband’s crimson hair. 

Crowley rises, removing his arousal from his pants once more. Lining himself up, he slowly thrusts in. His angel’s entrance, slick from four previous orgasms, welcomes him eagerly. Hips withdraw before snapping back, burying himself fully in Aziraphale’s heat. He sets a steady pace, thrusting up each time to drag against the most sensitive spot. One hand on the small of his angel’s back, the other gripping the counter supporting them both. 

Aziraphale hooks his arms under his husband’s. Holding him as close as possible as he finally feels Crowley’s effort filling him. He wraps his legs around his husband’s narrow waist pulling him deeper. They are both gasping as yet another climax nears. 

Crowley kisses the juncture between his angel’s neck and shoulder. “May I, dove?”

“Please.” Aziraphale moans turning his head to allow his husband access. 

Crowley claims his angel’s neck, teeth nearly breaking the skin. He sucks hard to ensure Aziraphale has a mark for several days to come. Simultaneously his angel’s effort clamps around him as another release is wrenched from Aziraphale. Crowley continues to thrust until he follows shortly after. Spilling into his angel’s depths. 

“You are amazing, dove.” he pants as he slips free. 

Nearly limp on the counter Aziraphale smiles up at Crowley, “Are you accepting defeat?”

“Never.”

He drags his angel from the counter and carries Aziraphale upstairs to their bedroom. There he sets his angel down gently at the edge of their nest. “Dove, I would like to try something, but if you are not comfortable, we won’t. Understand?”

“Yes, dearest.”

“Turn around for me, dove. Lean over our nest.” Aziraphale complies eagerly. Crowley’s hands caress his angel’s soft hips. ‘How in all creation did I get this lucky?’

Removing the toy and phone from his pocket, he sets them on the nest. He quickly removes his pants and boxers before taking position behind his angel. “Dove, I would like to make love to you while this…” he shows Aziraphale the little pink gadget. “Is here.” Crowley brushes his thumb over his angel’s other entrance. 

“Inside?” Aziraphale asks considering the prospect.

“Yes inside. Will you try this with me, dove?” ‘You don’t have to.’

Aziraphale smiles back at his husband, “Yes, my love.” ‘I trust you.’

Leaning over his angel, he presses a kiss between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades. ‘You always smell amazing.’ “Thank you, dove. If at any point you want to stop, we stop.”

“I know, darling.”

“Spread your legs a bit for me.” Aziraphale obeys. “Just like that, thank you, dove.”

Crowley brings a hand to his angel’s inner thigh, caressing up to Aziraphale’s effort. Dipping his fingers between his angel’s fold slickening them. “We haven’t done this in a while, dove. Let me know if it is painful, yeah?” Aziraphale nods remembering to breathe and relax. Crowley begins massaging the entrance in firm circles around the tight muscle. He watches for any hesitation as he slips the first digit inside. 

Aziraphale responds by pushing himself back onto the intrusion. Instead of waiting for Crowley to work him open, he begins rocking his hips. A second finger quickly joins the first. It doesn’t feel as it once did, but the filling stretch still has Aziraphale panting all the same. When a third finger is finally added, he moans, “Crowley, more.”

Taking the cue, Crowley grabs his phone and turns the little device to half strength. This too he slides through his angel’s folds brushing intentionally over the little bud. Causing Aziraphale’s knees to give a bit. He coats the contraption in the slick of his angel’s arousal. Removing his fingers, he presses the pink toy to his angel’s prepared entrance. 

Aziraphale stops his hips to allow Crowley to work the toy inside as intended. Slowing his breathing, he focuses on keeping his muscles relaxed. The vibration promising of the pleasure to be had.

“Are you ready, dove?”

“Yes.”

Crowley presses the gadget slowly into his angel’s entrance. Careful not to rush the process. Once passed the midpoint Aziraphale’s body accepts the rest readily. Leaving only the thin retrieval cord exposed. “How does it feel, dove?”

“Exceptional. Please, my love. I need you.”

“I am right here, dove.” Taking his effort in hand, he slides inside his angel once more. The vibration of the toy could be felt against his own arousal. Crowley begins thrusting, slowly nearly withdrawing before pressing forcefully back inside. Grasping his angel’s hips, he groans. He hadn’t anticipated he too would feel the effects of his plan. 

The sensation of being completely filled is exquisite. Each forceful thrust elicits a gasping moan. He grips the bedding as his legs threatened to fail him. “Dearest…”

“Yes, dove?” he growls deep in his chest. 

“More...Please…” Aziraphale begs between keening moans. 

“Look at me, dove.” his angel turns his head. Blue eyes are nearly black with pleasure. 

Crowley grabs his phone and turns the toy to full strength. Taking the retrieval cord, he pulls until the toy is nearly halfway out then lets it slip back in. His angel’s moans become a quick staccato. He repeats the motion as his thrusts intensify. The sensations crashing into him tell him how overwhelming the whole experience is. His angel is nearing a climax once more. Aziraphale’s whole body quivering as his angel tries to remain standing. “That’s it, dove. Come for me.”

At his husband’s words, Aziraphale cries out his release. His legs give, but Crowley is there pinning his hips to their nest. Coaxing him through each wave of orgasm. 

Seeing his angel lost to pleasure Crowley’s thrusts begin to stagger. His own groans increasing until he lets out a deep growl. He spills into Aziraphale, thrusts becoming shallow until his climax subsides. Pulling the little toy free, he turns it off, setting it aside. His angel is still trembling, legs barely able to maintain support. 

Aziraphale huffs a laugh, “My love, you are the victor. I yield.” he lays his head down in their nest in satisfied defeat. 

“Is that so?” Crowley scoops his spent angel into his arms. Climbing into the nest, he lays them both down. Aziraphale snuggling close as he pulls the tartan blanket over them. “Hell of a challenge, dove. Anytime you care for a rematch.” he kisses his angel’s sweat damp curls. 

“I know where to find you, dearest,” he says on a yawn. “I love you, my beautiful husband.”

“I love you too, dove.” Crowley might have asked for a kiss, but when he looked down, his angel was fast asleep. A soft smile on gentle lips. 'Sleep well, angel.'

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	23. Share In Our Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our love birds learn a new skill. (Just fluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, in chapter 10, I uploaded a doodle of what I envision Aziraphale looks like as they leave for Nice. I am considering making at least one picture for each chapter. If you have suggestions or any particular scene you would like to see illustrated, let me know.

Tuesday 5 November 2019  
9:22 am  
The Cottage

The days following the trial, Aziraphale and Crowley talked little about the events in Heaven. This was mostly due to Crowley’s unwillingness, and his angel knowing he needed time. Aziraphale focused instead on going over Agnes’s prophecies. Much to his dismay, he had overlooked the mention of the trial.

_“He'd not the messeng'r. His vile w'rds shall beest his owneth judgment. At which hour the villain denounces the miracle, fireth shall beest his reward.”_

Yet again the prophetess was on the money, and cryptic.

On the fourth day, Aziraphale woke to find himself alone. The bed next to him was cool declaring Crowley had probably been up for some time, or snuck down to his greenhouse after making sure Aziraphale was fast asleep. Rest had alluded his husband since that day. He resolved himself to allow Crowley the space needed to disentangle the new matters that weighed heavy on his heart. ‘He will talk to me when he is ready.’

Slipping on his robe, he walked into their bathroom. Light permeating in a warm, soft glow over the whole of the room. His reflection gave him pause. There, in profile, the minuscule bump was now more defined. It no longer appeared to be a bit of excess as a result of food. This morning it spoke clearly of their child’s presence.

Aziraphale unfastened his robe. Letting the satin fall open on its own accord. A gentle hand caressing over the pronounced curve of his abdomen. “Good morning, little one,” he whispers tenderly.

Unbeknownst to his angel, Crowley was standing just outside their bathroom, once again. A tray of breakfast pastries and tea in hand. The one-sided exchange melting away all worries. He silently carried the tray to their nest and set it down, returning to eavesdrop on his angel.

“We are ever so eager to meet you, you know. That is not said to rush you. Take all the time you need. But your father and I are very much looking forward to holding you.” The image of Crowley smiling down on their sleeping baby swelled his heart with joy. “You are ever so loved. Your father, I fully suspect I will have to wrestle you from his arms.”

‘Maybe not wrestle.’ Crowley smirks to himself.

“He is so excited. It is wonderful to see him happy. You should have seen him when we first heard your little heartbeat.” Aziraphale coos, both hands sweeping over his bump.

Throwing his hands up in defeat, ‘Are you going to tell everyone?’

“He’s going to dote on you. I just know I will have to be the one to set limits. Though I intend to do my share of indulging you as well. I want to read to you every night before bed. Teach you all there is to know about literature and music. Your father will have to teach you about bee-bop.”

‘It’s not bee-bop.’

“He can educate you in horticulture and astronomy. There is so much he can share with you. Perhaps one day, he will teach you to operate an automobile. Though I would not like you driving a vehicle as recklessly as he does. "

‘Yea...going to have to work on that.’

“There is so much beauty in this world, my love. So many things to see and experience. One day we will get to show you all those wonderful things.”

Crowley slips into the bathroom soundlessly. His angel was so focused on their little bundle of joy; he was able to snake his hands around Aziraphale and their child unnoticed. “Mum's right kiddo. We'll show you all the finer points of this ball of dirt."

"Good morning, dearest." Aziraphale smiles, melting into the embrace. ‘There you are.’

Kissing his angel’s temple, Crowley purrs “M'orning, dove. Sleep well?”

“Yes, dearest.” He turns in his husband’s arms. Serpent eyes smiling down on him. “You keep sneaking up on me, dearest.”

‘S’your fault. Stop being so damn fascinating, and I won’t have to.’ “Sorry, dove. Didn’t want to interrupt. How’s our little bun?”

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Aziraphale smiles down at his belly between them. “They seem to be flourishing.”

“I see.” He says, resting a hand on the swell of his angel’s stomach. “How’s mummy?”

‘Much better now.’ “Actually, I feel wonderful today.” Aziraphale beams up at his husband, with a little wiggle.

‘Adorable, beautiful, and unintentionally seductive. How is it we get anything done?’ He chokes down the sudden desire to relieve his angel of floral robe. “Good. Brought up some breakfast for you.”

“You are so wonderful, dearest. Thank you.” He presses a quick peck to his husband’s lips. “Speaking of breakfast, darling. I was wondering if you might like to go to a cookery class with me?” This is asked as he slips free of his husband and glides back into their bedroom.

“Cooking? Whatever for?” Crowley asks trailing closely behind.

“Well, we are going to be parents. And though I am not certain if our child will need Earthly sustenance, it would make things a lot easier to be able to make a few rudimentary meals ourselves.” Aziraphale stops and turns just before their nest, clutching his robe closed. Sitting primly, he takes the tea in hand and sips levelling his husband a coy gaze.

‘I know what you are doing. You think I can’t refuse you when you look at me like that. And you are right.’ “I see your point. Could just try our hand at a recipe. Can’t be that hard.” He says, flopping down next to his angel.

“I have a few cookbooks.” Aziraphale sets his teacup down. Taking the plate with a small danish in hand, he turns back to Crowley. “Never tried to make anything before. Not even an egg.” a demure bite is taken of the pastry.

Crowley sits up, “Let’s try.”

“What?” Aziraphale swallows in surprise.

“Between the two of us surely we can manage an egg.” Crowley groans assuredly.

‘That’s wishful thinking.’ “We don’t have eggs. We don’t even have anything to cook them with.” Aziraphale reminds with a furrowed pout, setting the plate and danish down on the tray.

“Well…” he growls with a pout of his own “Get dressed. We’ll go get eggs and whatever we need to make’em.” Crowley bounds from their nest.

“You are very optimistic today,” Aziraphale says with a sceptical look.

“C’mon, dove.” he pleads playfully with his arms outstretched.

Aziraphale sighs. “Alright.” ‘Who am I to rain on your enthusiasm? Perhaps you will surprise me.’

11:43 am

They return home with eggs, and far more cookware than anyone honestly needs. The saleswoman had helpfully recommended half the store once she found out they had little knowledge of what they were looking for. Crowley pops the boot of the Bentley and immediately curses his own rule of no miracles. Aziraphale offers to assist with bringing their unnecessary purchases inside. Only to be sent away with a single carton of eggs.

Once all the pots, pans, utensils, and other superfluous gadgets are brought in Crowley selects a large fry pan. “This should do, don’t you think?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Aziraphale says, opening the egg box.

Crowley sets the pan down on the burner with a considered look. “It’s an egg. How hard can it be?” he groans mostly to himself.

Aziraphale hands him an egg, schooling his face away from doubt. Crowley takes the proffered egg. “Right.” turning the dial of the first burner, they hear a clicking sound. “Whot I do?” Crowley asks fearing he broke their stove.

Peering down to inspect the burner, “I see a flame. Perhaps turn it a bit more?” Aziraphale suggests with uncertainty.

Crowley does as proposed, and the clicking stops, the flame increases, glowing bright blue. “Well, here goes nothing.” Cracking the egg on the side of the frying pan, half of the contents slide into its intended target, the other ooze down into the burner. The smell of charred egg filling their kitchen. “Woops.”

The egg that made it into the pan instantly begins to sizzle. Both look on in apprehension. “Sunny Side up or over easy? Give us a flippy thing.”

“What is that exactly?” Aziraphale asks, looking over their purchases.

'What the Hell did that woman call it?' “Um, the...spatula. The thing with a handle and a flat bit at the end.” Crowley points to the utensil peaking through the heap.

“Here we are.” beaming, Aziraphale presents the instrument.

“Thanks, dove.” They look back at the pan, and the egg is already starting to burn. “Yeah, maybe we should try n'other.”

By the time Crowley successfully managed to cook an egg, worth being considered edible, only three eggs remained in the carton. They figured out through the help of the internet that to keep the eggs from sticking one needs to add butter. Or something similar there too. Luckily this was one item they did keep on hand.

Before them sat a rather sickly looking egg, edges brown near burnt, yolk partly cooked firm, the rest pooling on the plate. Crowley let out an exasperated sigh. Aziraphale offering to sample his husband’s culinary experiment. To which Crowley flatly refused.

‘Humans make cooking look so easy.’ “About these classes? You might be right.” Crowley finally concedes.

“You gave it a valiant effort, dearest. Far better than I would have managed.” Aziraphale reassures, a hand soothing over his husband's shoulder.

“Where are the classes anyway?” Crowley asks, taking the plate, interring the egg in the waste bin.

“Oh, well. I don’t know. I wanted to ask before I went and made any formal arrangements.” Aziraphale said to his defeated husband.

“Hope they got one that teaches the basics?” grumbles Crowley, returning to their breakfast table.

“I can make some inquiries.” he offers.

Pulling his phone from his pants pockets, “No need. The internet has everything.” His angel watches him in curiosity as he searches the nearby area for an adult cooking class for two. He found several he made a mental note of. Sushi, celebrity chef with wine pairings, and instruction on making fine chocolates. These were something his angel might enjoy, though not until after their child’s birth. The chocolate was something he considers saving for a special occasion. “Here we are.” ‘Violette’s School of Cookery. Private instruction tailored to your skill level. Good luck with finding any skill.’ “There’s a place not too far from here.”

“Oh? Would you like me to give them a ring?” Aziraphale asks enthusiastically. ‘This has turned into a personal challenge for you, hasn’t it?’

“No, dove. I got it.” Crowley holds the phone to his ear. As the line begins to ring Crowley stands and begins pacing their kitchen. Suddenly stopping as the call is answered, “Hi, found your website online. Yeah, was wondering just how beginner your beginner’s couples cookery class is?” Aziraphale watches him intently as he begins his march again. “Good, cause we just failed miserably at eggs.” Crowley turns on his heels giving Aziraphale a disgruntled look. “Sure. Good place as any to start.” he agrees with the person on the other end. “Well, we’ve got nothing on for the rest of the week.” Pulling the phone away from his face, he looks to his angel, “Dove, you want to go today? Had a last-minute cancellation.”

Aziraphale brightens, “That would be delightful.”

Resuming the call, “My wife said yes.” He saunters back to his angel’s side. “Yeah, got it. See you at three.” Nearly ending the call something pulls his attention back to his phone. “Oh, right. Anthony Crowley. My wife? Aziraphale Crowley. No allergies, but my wife is pregnant, so nothing on the not approved list. Hold on.” once again, Crowley pulls the phone away. “Anything you can’t stomach, dove?”

Aziraphale scrunches his face, “Nothing spicy. Not too keen on strong onions smells either.” ‘Thank Her most of the sickness is gone.’

“Nothing spicy, no onions,” Crowley informs plainly. “Yup. Ciao.”

“So?” Aziraphale brows raise with the question.

“Three today. One town over,” Crowley says absently as he looks over the chaos of the kitchen. “Should probably get this mess cleaned up first.”

“Thank you, dearest, for always indulging my whims,” Aziraphale smiles as he stands, striding up to his husband. Blue eyes awash with love and gratitude.

‘I would gladly indulge your every desire.’ “You are welcome, dove. However, at this point, it’s personal. Damn eggsss.” he hisses.

3:00 pm  
Violette’s School of Cookery

They arrive at a pleasant little home at the end of a lane. One side of the road was dotted with quaint little houses, the other paddocks. Sheep bleating, seemingly greeting them as they exit the Bentley. A hand-painted sign in beautiful calligraphy indicating they were indeed at their destination.

Crowley took his angel's hand, crossing the gravel drive to the door. Hand hovering, about to knock, when the door opens abruptly. A mousy kind-looking woman greets them with an earnest smile.

“E’llo. You must be Mr Crowley." She says, offering her hand in greeting.

"So it would seem," he says accepting the hand in a firm shake. "The Missus, Aziraphale." A hand is held out toward his angel.

"A pleasure Ma'am. I'm Violette." The young woman says, thrusting her hand to Aziraphale.

Gently he cups her hand between his own. "It is a pleasure for us, as well. You have a lovely home."

"Thank you. Do come inside." Violette invites, stepping back, opening the door wider.

Crowley encourages his angel to enter first. Once inside, they are led through the foyer and into the kitchen. In the centre of the sizable space is a wide island. On one side two flat stovetops are set into the counter side by side. The other has two cutting boards, two matching aprons, with the name of the school stitched in the centre, and various cooking implements.

Violette instructs them briefly on safety, their responsibilities as customers, and appropriate hygiene practices when handling food. Once they both wash their hands, they dawn their aprons and stand at the ready.

Addressing Aziraphale, "Your husband tells me you two had a bit of trouble with eggs?"

Laughing nervously at the memory, "Yes. I am afraid we are both incompetent in the kitchen."

"I can make fruit salad." Crowley reminds his angel of one of the foods that sustained Aziraphale during the period of constant morning sickness.

"That you can, dearest. Which I was very grateful for," he says, leaning over to kiss his devoted husband’s cheek.

Politely smiling at their exchange Violette begins, “Well, I am going to walk you through several egg preparations. As you are pregnant Mrs Crowley, I am going to ask you not to eat some of them. If any part of the egg isn’t fully cooked you run the risk of salmonella.”

“Is that some sort of fish recipe?” Aziraphale asks in puzzlement.

Violette clears her throat to cover a giggle, “No, it is a bacteria. It can be potentially dangerous for a pregnancy.”

“Understood.” Aziraphale nods. ‘Shouldn’t be an issue, but not worth risking.’

“Let’s start with the simplest, scrambled eggs. It takes less finesse, just patients.”

“So says you,” mumbles Crowley still sore about his earlier failures.

Placing a carton between them, she instructs, “Take your egg in hand.” they both do as directed, “Now firmly, but not hard enough to completely destroy the egg, give it a good tap on the counter.” Aziraphale has to attempt this twice as his first try was too cautious. “Alright now using your thumbs separate the shell into two halves.” Aziraphale manages this step with ease. Crowley with a curse drops a bit of shell into his egg. “It’s alright you can scoop it out with a bit of shell or wet your finger before and retrieve it.”

Crowley takes a piece of shell and fishes the offending shard out with ease. ‘That would have bloody been helpful to know this morning.’

Violette continues, “Now the next part is per preference. If you like fluffier eggs add about a tablespoon of water per egg. For creamier eggs add the same measurement of milk.” Aziraphale and Crowley agree to try both methods. “I recommend adding a little pinch of salt and pepper.” they both do as suggested. “Now take the whisk. This can be done with a fork as well. Whisk the eggs until completely blended.” She demonstrates by vigorously whipping the egg into submission. They mimic her example, Crowley splashing his shirt in the process of his zealous stirring.

“Now to make things a bit easier for you, we are going to use nonstick pans.” She walks over to one of the stovetops. Placing a small black pan on the burner. “You want to turn the heat on medium-low.” She explains. “Too hot and you will burn your eggs, or they will be rubbery.”

‘One of my many mistakes.' Crowley leans against the counter arms folded as he takes mental notes.

“You will need a bit of fat,” Violette says cutting a bit of butter and casting it into the hot pan. “Use what you like. Butter, cooking spray, some use olive oil. I prefer butter. Just enough to coat the bottom.” she demonstrates, swirling the pan making sure the butter fully melts over the whole cooking surface. “Once you pour your egg into the pan, take a wooden or silicone spatula and pull from the outside towards the centre. You will see the cooked egg begin to gather, and the rest will run to the edge.” She does this. Slowly the egg begins to come together. When no more egg runs to the side, she plates it. “And there you have it a perfectly scrambled egg. You try.”

Crowley rolls up his sleeves to the elbow. Dumping the egg unceremoniously into the provided pan. Aziraphale between the two is far more patient, slowly emulating what they swere shown. Crowley works his as if the egg had personally offended him.

When they plate their work, they are rewarded with quite appetising fluffs of egg. Crowley samples his own before feeding a morsel to his angel. Though it isn’t a singular gastronomic experience, Aziraphale still delights in the subtle difference between the preparations. The pair both preferring the eggs with the addition of milk.

“Excellent. You two did well.” Violette praises to the pair so clearly lost in their own little world.

Aziraphale pulls his attention away from Crowley, remembering they are not alone, “That was delightful.”

“Cooking can be enjoyable. I find it relaxes me,” she says, clearing the bowls and unneeded utensils.

Violette leads them through the rest of the preparations. Culminating in the rather complicated foolproof method for perfectly poached eggs. To Crowley, it seems like a lot of work for minimal payoff. Aziraphale finds more profound respect for all the chefs through the years who have laboured at the tedious task.

Violette claps her hands together, “Well, do we feel more confident with eggs?”

Really wanting to sample the little poached sphere before him Aziraphale uses the question as a distraction from the temptation, “Yes, Ma’am. Thank you ever so much, Ms Violette.”

“Well, since we got the basics under control, let’s try something a bit more labour intensive. We are going to make a Quiche Lorraine,” she informs as she gathers the necessary ingredients.

“Oh, I love quiche,” Aziraphale says wistfully. ‘I should be able to eat this.’

“Hopefully, after today, you will be able to prepare them yourselves.” Violette encourages, placing a container of flour between them. “The first step is making the pastry.”

Violette coaches them through making a flawless flaky crust. Aziraphale takes on the challenge with enthusiasm. By the time he places the completed dough into the pie dish, Aziraphale is beaming with pride. Watching contently the whole while, Crowley enjoys seeing his angel absorbed in this pure sense of accomplishment.

“Time to bake.” Announces Violette, taking the prepared crust, lining it with parchment paper. “This will ensure a level bottom. If you come across blind bake in a recipe, this is what they mean.” she pours dry beans over the parchment.

“Won't they burn?” Crowley asks with an arched brow.

“No. They will be hot however, so be careful.” She takes the dish in hand, “Now into the oven for twenty minutes.” After sliding it in, she turns back to them. “I have to step into my garden. Need a few sprigs of thyme.”

“Oh, you have a garden?” Crowley perks up at the information.

“Yes. I like to use fresh ingredients whenever I can.” Violette smiles at the man's interest.

“My husband is a wonderful gardener,” Aziraphale informs caressing Crowley's lean back.

“Is that so. Got any advice on aphids?” she asks, thinking about the little creatures feasting on her tomatoes.

“They don’t like alliums. Mix those between to keep the little buggers out. A bit of soap and water in a mister should do the trick to evict the little shits.”

“I will have to try that. Thank you.” she smiles in gratitude.

“No problem.” as she leaves Crowley snaps his fingers to take care of the issue permanently. Earning him a pleased knowing look from his angel.

"This is fun, dearest. Are you enjoying yourself?" Aziraphale inquires once they are alone.

'I enjoy watching you.' "F'course. Might just have to do this again."

"Could we? I would like that."

'Like I ever tell you no.' "Yes, dove. As often as you want."

Aziraphale wiggles in excitement. "Thank you, love." He presses a kiss to his husband. Intending on only a quick peck he is surprised when Crowley holds him close deepening the kiss. All thought of their current surrounding fades away. A soft moan is hummed as their tongues meet.

Returning to her kitchen Violette is caught by surprise by the intimate embrace her students are currently engaging in. Awkwardly she holds up the retrieved thyme, "Here we are."

Upon the discovery, Aziraphale quickly pulls away. Face flushed in embarrassment. Crowley smirks in devious delight at their culinary tutor. Violette decides quickly not to comment.

A heavy silence falls over them. Aziraphale giving his husband an accusing look 'You intended that.'

Resting against the counter, he shifts slightly so only his angel can see as he slides his glasses down. 'Would you have stopped me?'

Tsking, Aziraphale turns away. He knows the implications his husband's eyes are conveying. 'I will get my vengeance one day, dearest.'

Violette focuses on her job. The couple is endearing in their affection, though she feels like an intruder in her own kitchen. She explains the next part of removing the beans, before returning the pan to the oven. When the delicious smell of warm baking fills the kitchen, Violette removes the golden crust.

Looking over their joint venture, she announces. “It’s perfect."

Coming to stand at her side Aziraphale is overjoyed. "Thanks to your patient instruction Ms Violette."

Smiling her thanks, she turns to the less enthusiastic pupil. "Mr Crowley, would you reduce the temperature to one hundred sixty degrees?”

Crowley saunters over to the dial and makes the correction. Upon returning to their work station, Violette continues, “Now for the filling.”

Crowley takes charge of this next portion. Bacon is cooked to an ideal crisp. Not a speck of burn to be seen. Tomatoes are sliced into even pieces. Cheese is measured, and eggs are whisked thoroughly with milk and cream. Combining everything into the dish, he steps aside as thyme leaves are sprinkled over the top.

After placing the quiche in the oven, she turns to the pair, “Would either of you like some tea while we wait?”

“Oh, that would be lovely. Thank you.” Aziraphale answers for them both. Seeing them seated at her kitchen table, Violette prepares the kettle. In no time, three cups of tea are produced and brought over. A small selection of biscuits, most likely made Violette herself, accompanying.

Aziraphale having little to eat since that morning eagerly takes the offerings. The treat is just to his taste. "You make a wonderful cup of tea, dear. The jam-filled biscuits are also remarkable."

"Thank you.” She says, sitting to the table. “So, while we wait, tell me about yourselves. How long have you two been married?"

Taking a large sip of his teat to clear his throat, "Ten weeks." ‘Has it really been so long?’ He looks to his wonderful husband who seems to share the sentiment. “A beautiful ten weeks.”

"Ten weeks?" Violette considers the oddly specific measurement. "Newlyweds then?"

"Suppose you could call us that," Crowley mumbles. ‘I would have agreed to marry you the moment we met. Thrown care to the wind and spent our time making sure you knew just how much I loved you.’

"I would have guessed you two would have been together for some time." she contemplates aloud before sipping her tea.

The look they exchange is overflowing with meaning. ‘It should have been sooner. I love you so much. You mean everything to me. I should have let nothing stand between us.’

Crowley reaches over and takes his angel’s hand, ‘You know I understood. Don’t look at me like that. I have you finally, our kid, that’s all that matters. This. Now.’

"Oh, we've known each other for a very long time," Aziraphale says voice quivering. Gentle blue eyes twinkling as all regrets, love, and hope stare past his husband dark lenses to the gold beneath

Violette figures there is a storied history there. One, her guests may not be willing to share. Yet again, she feels as though she is witness to something meant for no one’s eyes. Instead, she changes the topic “How far along are you, if you don't mind me asking."

Turning back to the kind woman he smiles, smoothing his hand over his abdomen, "Twelve weeks. The hu...the doctor counts two weeks prior to conception." Aziraphale nervously corrects himself, hoping the human didn’t notice.

Quickly working the math over in her mind, "Wedding night baby?"

"Hear tell, it’s supposed to be lucky," Crowley says with pride. Resting fully in his chair. ‘If I do nothing else right in my existence, our child will know they are loved.’

The smile they receive has a tinge of pain just beneath the surface. "Babies are such a blessing," Violette says sweetly.

‘Quite literally in our case.’"This one certainly is." Crowley casts his angel a roguish grin.

"Are you married Ms Violette?" Aziraphale inquires.

"I am.” she smiles. Glancing at her watch, “My husband should be home soon."

"Do you have children?" Aziraphale asks. Looking around her home, he could see no evidence to the affirmative.

Now the pain is plainly unmistakable in her eyes. Though she smiles, they both know it is just a professional attempting to remain composed. "No. We are not able."

Instantly he regrets stepping on the sensitive topic. His remorse only compounded by himself being a representation of something the woman clearly desires, "Pardon me, Ms Violette. I am sorry to have upset you."

"No, it's alright. I opened that line of discussion. I've come to terms with it." she smiles past her despondency.

"If I may, what seems to be the problem?" Aziraphale asks, looking over their kind instructor.

"Doctors can't say. Apparently it just happens sometimes." She takes a sip of her cooling tea.

"Sorry to hear it." working the situation over in his mind, Aziraphale focuses on nibbling a biscuit.

"It's really alright.” she stands with her teacup. “Let me check on your quiche." Hurries over to the oven, her students don't miss the hand wiping away tears.

The front door opens, and a jovial man's voice calls out, "Vy, I am home."

Looking back at the couple studying her, "It's coming along nicely. I'll be back in just a moment."

When Aziraphale could hear them in the other room talking, he leans into his husband, “We could help them.”

‘I knew you were going to say that.’ “Probably shouldn’t interfere,” Crowley says, shifting in his seat.

“Yes, but…” ‘She seems like such a nice young woman. Surely she deserves the same joy as we share? One miracle. I am God’s paramount Earthly representative. It’s a kindness. Would that be overstepping?’

Seeing his angel’s mind fretting Crowley shifts forward, “Dove, if you want to help them I won’t stop you. But make sure it is something they both want first, yeah?”

‘My clever husband. You are right.’ “Of course.”

Violette returns a few moments later looking a bit better than when she left. Loathed to possibly return the sweet young woman to such a state, he had no choice. “Ms Violette, you were saying there is nothing the doctors can do about your infertility?”

She took the question better than expected, “Yes. My husband and I tried all the fertility interventions. Nothing worked.” where she was formally grieving, she was now stoic. She sat with them, face pleasant.

“I am sorry to hear that, dear,” Aziraphale says, laying a hand on her’s tenderly.

“We are thinking about adopting. James always wanted a big family.” She says with renewed cheer.

‘Husband check.’ “And what do you want?”

She sighs but answers, “I’ve always wanted children. I just really wanted one of my own. I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

‘It is now.’ Aziraphale brings a blessing down into the young woman. Pulling his hand away upon completion. “Oh, I don’t know. Miracles happen all the time. We didn’t think I could bear children either, but here we are.”

“I am happy for you.” Violette seems to brighten at this information.

“Thank you, dear. Perhaps give it another go. I have found somethings just happen in their own time.” he encourages.

Violette seems to have a spark of renewed hope trickle across her pleasant features. Standing, she flits to the oven, peering inside. “I believe your quiche is done.”

Taking this as an invitation Aziraphale hurries over to see the finished product. The quiche is golden brown, a delectable smell making his stomach demand attention, “It looks marvellous.”

“We have to let it cool a bit. Then I will pack it up. If you choose to you can freeze this for up to three months.” she says, removing her apron.

“I think we might have it for supper,” he says, following her example. “May we schedule another class? We enjoyed your instruction very much. I am sure there is plenty we can learn from you.”

“Sure. What would you like to try next?”

“Baking bread,” Aziraphale replies eagerly.

“Ambitious, but I think you will do fine. When would you like to schedule the next class?” Violette brings out her appointment book.

“At your pleasure.”

Flipping through a few pages she offers, “I have availability in two days at the earliest. Or next Thursday. The following weeks are pretty open.”

Aziraphale looks to his husband, who simply shrugs. “We’ll take the first appointment.”

“Alright,” she says, marking them down.

Their quiche cools quickly. Thanking their teacher, they present a generous tip. Violette tries to refuse only to be ignored. She watches as the odd pair leave in their vintage automobile.

Unbeknownst to all parties, Violette is not the only one observing the vehicle disappear down the quiet little country lane. Lurking just out of sight is one of the Disposable. When the human is back inside, he mounts an obnoxiously pink moped, following only close enough to keep his target in sight.

6:02 pm  
The Cottage

After eating a large share of their, quiche Aziraphale retired to the sunroom with a book. Which at this time of day would be considered more of a moon room. In the adjoining greenhouse, Crowley was busy tending to the many plants he was planning to transplant come spring. The room was cool, though with a large blanket and a cup of hot cocoa Aziraphale was cosy.

Completing his tasks, Crowley exits the greenhouse. Finding his angel lost in the pages of a book he decides to simply make himself comfortable. By comfort, he plops down next to Aziraphale, resting his head on his angel’s plump thighs. He wiggles into place. Feet kicked up on the sofa’s armrest.

Untieing his hair, he waits for his angel’s attention. As expected, gentle hands begin carding through the waves that spill over Aziraphale’s lap. He was nearly ready to lose himself to sleep when he looks up at the book in his angel’s hand. “Winnie the Pooh?” Azure eyes meet his. “Really?”

“I like Milne.” huffs Aziraphale closing the book. ‘I know it isn’t the most enlightened of works, but it’s very good.’

Crowley snatches the book before his angel could react. Flipping to a random page, he begins to read dramatically, “Piglet lay there, wondering what had happened. At first, he thought that the whole world had blown up, and then he thought that perhaps only the Forest part of it had; and then he thought that perhaps only he had, and he was now alone in the moon or somewhere, and would never see Christopher Robin or Pooh or Eeyore again. And then he thought…”

Absent-mindedly Aziraphale recites over his husband, "Well, even if I'm in the moon, I needn't be face downwards all the time."

“Oh, my God.” Crowley stares open-mouthed up at his angel.

Realisation of what just happened Aziraphale looks away, sheepishly, “What?”

“You’ve memorised it.” cries Crowley. ‘All the prophecy books, all the Oscar Wilde first additions, and you memorise a children’s book about a stuffed animal. Oh, this is great. How do I not know this?’

“I!...I haven’t.” he denies, though the pink tint to his cheeks declares otherwise.

‘We are going to lie now? Okay, angel, we’ll test my theory.’ Crowley flips through the book once again. He reads aloud in the low timber he knows his angel can’t resist. After a while, he feels hands return to his hair, causing him to lose all thought of his goal. ‘This is nice. Might have to read to you more often.’ Nearing the end of the book, “And it was on the morning of the fourth day that Piglet's bottle came floating past him, and with one loud cry of…”

“Honey!” Aziraphale exclaims joyously.

“You bloody well have,” Crowley says closing the book, sitting up glaring at his angel. ‘You have been found out. Lie to me now.’

‘Why is this so important?’ “Fine. I have. I like Winnie the Pooh. What is wrong with that?” Aziraphale pouts looking away from his husband’s accusing stare.

‘Don’t be mad.’ “Nothing, dove. Just of all books?” he chuckles examining the cover.

“It’s not the only book I know by heart.” he studies the arm of the sofa.

“Oh?” Crowley shifts to his side.

“Not all of them. Just a few.” A blush now running down his neck.

‘This is too adorable. I am going to find out the rest.’ “And Pooh made it on that list?” He waggles the book before his angel’s face.

Snatching it hastily, Aziraphale stands, leaving his husband to fumble to remain on the couch. “Fine, mock me.”

Grabbing his angel’s forearm before Aziraphale could retreat inside, “Hey, don’t be like that.”

Aziraphale earnestly pouts, “There is nothing wrong with enjoying a children's book.”

‘God, I love you.’ “I know, dove. Just didn't know this about you. C’mere.” He gently pulls his angel to him as he sits up.

Letting himself be guided onto his husband’s lap, he clutches the book to his chest, “I enjoy Winnie the Pooh.” Pitiable eyes look into tender golden ones, “I was...I was imagining reading to the baby. One day. Perhaps we might enjoy this together.” A hand caresses the green leather.

‘Of course and I just teased you.’ Slipping a hand over his angel’s little bump, “I’m sorry, dove. I am sure they will love it.” ‘I should have known better. You’ve had enough arseholes laughing at you.’

‘I know you meant nothing by it. I love you.’ he cuddles against his husband. "What do you think they will be like?"

Crowley takes this as an invitation and wraps his long arms around his family, "I hope they decide that for themselves."

"Well, yes but…I very much hope they take after you. Strong and brilliant. Kind and beautiful. Brave, with a curiosity for everything. Mischievous but a good heart."

‘You’ve clearly got me confused with someone else.’ "Funny, I was going to say the same thing." Crowley purrs, tucking a starlight ringlet behind his angel’s ear.

Missing his husband’s meaning, "It would make things interesting. Having two of you running about."

"No, I meant I am hoping they will be like you." ‘Satan knows we don’t need any more of me on the loose.’

"Like me?" ‘The fussy angel? Surely not.’

"Oh come off it, dove. You know I love everything about you. Even when you are being a bastard. I want them just like you. Though if they have your eyes, I'm doomed." ‘Definitely doomed either way.’

"I want them to have your eyes," Aziraphale says wistfully.

"Don't say that." he groans.

"Why ever not? Your eyes are beautiful. I've always thought so." Cupping his husband’s cheek, he gazes into them.

Crowley turns away, "They’re a curse."

"Hardly.” his hand forcing his husband to look at him. “And even if they are, it doesn't change their allure."

"You want our kid to be cursed with my eyes? And what happens when the human's see them? You know they fear what they don't understand." he questions grimly.

‘Now who needs to come off it?’ "Do you really care what human's think?

"No, but they will still have to hide them." ‘I don’t want our kid to live in fear.’

"Why? I wish you wouldn't hide yours either." he leans in and kisses his husband. Lips parting, tongue imploring for entrance.

‘Honestly, you could give Asmodeus a run for his title.’ Crowley pulls away from the kiss, "I can't just go walking about with snake eyes. Can't tell you how many times I was run out of towns, or almost burnt at the stake."

"I am sorry for that, dearest. But they simply don't burn people anymore." Aziraphale admonishes.

"What do you call Shadwell?" he glares.

‘When are you going to let that go?’ "Name one witch he has successfully hunted."

"Not the point. If our child is born with my eyes, they will suffer for it." Crowley says pointedly.

‘What if this isn’t about others? What if…’ "Would...would you love them less if they were?"

This question stung. Crowley felt the anger well up inside of him. ‘How could you think that?’ Then he contemplated his own words. ‘Cursed. If our child does have my eyes, I called them cursed. Dad of the year material, me.’ "No, dove. I will always love them. I just don't want that for them if at all possible. I don’t want them to suffer because of me."

"I understand.” Taking a curl in hand, “I want them to have your hair at least."

‘You are just asking for trouble.’ "You want a little ginger scurrying about?"

"Yes. A little spirited firebrand full of life and happiness." Aziraphale twirls the strand around his finger.

"Whatever they look like. Whoever they decide to be. I just want them to be safe and happy." Crowley says, kissing his angel’s forehead.

'You are right, of course.' Aziraphale closes his eyes, remembering his dream. The shrill giggle echoing in his mind. 'Safe and happy.' He sighs, relaxing into his husband’s shoulder. "Agreed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	24. We Are To Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of bad luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. The Holiday season has my life in a bit of chaos.

Saturday 16 November 2019  
7:19 am

Since their informative time at Violette’s, they had returned twice. Aziraphale was far more proficient when it came to baking. Crowley for his part found he excelled at anything involving knives, fast-paced cooking methods, and high heats. To which he put to use several times, much to his angel's delight.

This lazy Saturday morning Crowley was quite enjoying their nest. Arms and legs spread across the expanse of bedding. A pleasant dream of his angel smiling, singing softly to a little bundle nestled in a soft blanket. A sudden weight and gentle kisses drag him from his reverie.

"Good morning, my lovely" kiss "strong" kiss "wonderful" kiss "kind husband." Aziraphale presses one last long kiss to Crowley's lips. Sinuous arms coming to wrap around his middle.

Groaning deep as he feels his angel’s warmth bleed into him. "Good morning, dove." ‘Sunshine and honey.’ "we are up early today." he smiles, eyes still closed.

‘You look so at peace. I am sorry to interrupt such pleasant dreams.’ "Yes. I feel quite energetic today." his effervescent joy brings him to a renewed flurry of kisses. 

Laying obedient to his angel’s affection, "That's good to hear.” Warm lips pepper his chest in quick pecks. ‘I love being your husband. Hell of a wake-up call.’ 

“My love” a kiss to his husband’s neck. “You are” a kiss to defined chin “So beautiful.” ‘I love being able to have you like this.’

‘You are being very insistent. And fully dressed.’ He finally opens his eyes. Blue pools peer down on him. “Is there something you want from me, dove?”

"Do I have to want something to kiss my husband?" Aziraphale asks claiming his husband’s lips once again. Tongue brushing against the seam, demanding admittance. Crowley happily obliges, hands brushing curls from his angel’s face. 

When he is finally allowed a moment to speak, "F’course not. But I know you." ‘and yes it is working.’ relaxing back into their nest, he closes his eyes, a pretence of defiance. 

"Alright." Aziraphale pouts as he sits up. A gentle finger tracing invisible circles onto his husband’s taut stomach. "I was wondering...if you wouldn't be opposed to it...if we might get a few things... for our baby?"

"A few things?" he asks, opening a single serpent eye to consider his manipulative angel.

Pouting all the more, "Well, we haven't done anything with the nursery. I know you want to wait, but perhaps we could start with a few little things." ‘Anything. It’s so empty in there. It feels wrong.’

‘Shit.’ "Isn't that supposed to be bad luck or something?" Crowley asks hoping old superstitions might dissuade his angel. 

"I do not subscribe to such nonsense, and neither do you.” This is frowned, though the pout still holds. “Maybe clothes then? Or a blanket?" ‘I just feel like I must start preparing for them.’ An overwhelming urge began to consume his thoughts in the past few days. A constant calling to create a perfect space just for their impending little one. An incessant itch that no amount of prophecies, books, or baked goods could satiate. 

‘You aren’t going to let this go.’ "Alright. Hop off. I'll get dressed," he says, patting his angel’s hip. 

10:41 am  
London

Aziraphale wasn’t sure if the quality of the shops were more to his husband’s liking. Or it was just an excuse to get back to the familiarity of the metropolis, but they were currently winding through a sea of posh baby items in London. Soft blankets, adorable clothing, and toys of all descriptions all speaking to that new urge. One particularly gorgeous sweater caught his eye. It was the finest of cashmere, much like Aziraphale’s own beloved cardigan. Affixed to the back was a dainty pair of white wings. ‘Perhaps this is a bit much?’

“You two will match with that,” Crowley teases peering over his angel’s shoulder.

“Yes. It is a bit on the nose, isn’t it.” he smiles, sheepishly at the idea.

Sensing his angel's hesitation, “It’s perfect, dove.” he purrs into Aziraphale's ear. 

'Oh Lord, I love when you do that.' "Well, then, we must take it."

As he rounded the display to continue on through the store, he sees a red version of the sweater. 'It's not black, but…' Aziraphale snaps it up, quickly tucking it under his arm.

As they were both busy considering a particularly lovely knit throw, they were approached by an elderly couple, "That is a choice blanket. Our great-granddaughter loves hers. Never puts the thing down." smiles the pensioner.

"It is marvelous." Aziraphale agrees, holding it to his chest.

"I'm June. Is this your first?" Asks the kindly woman.

"Yes. We are very excited. My name is Aziraphale. This is my husband, Crowley." He introduces. His husband giving a quick uninterested smile.

"Henry." The elderly man says, offering Crowley his hand. 

Crowley begrudgingly accepts the arthritic appendage. "Pleasure." He grumbles clearly unpleased. 

As his angel is swept into a conversation about babies, baby bobbles, and the hazards of breastfeeding, Henry turns to his new captive audience. "First one for you too then?"

"Yup," Crowley says, emphasising the p. 

"Unplanned?" The old man assesses from his new acquaintance's apparent age.

"An unexpected miracle, one might say." Crowley jeers to the nosy old man. 

Henry laughs "It's not all that scary you know. That’s not to say there won’t be days you will wonder what the Hell you were thinking. But there is no greater joy than holding your child in your arms. Then before you know it, you'll blink, and they will be grown. Only seeing them on holidays, and the occasional family get together. They go off having children of their own, and you will be wishing for those days of endless nappies and early morning feedings."

The old man's words pierced something deep within Crowley's heart. 'Won't see them? Will ours be in a hurry like the humans?' Warlock was not theirs, but they both knew the feeling of watching a child grow before their eyes. The thought gnawed at his insides. He couldn't help but feel this was some kind of cruel joke he was just beginning to comprehend.

Seeing the man's sudden discomfort Henry continues, "You could do what we did.” pulling out his wallet he presents a photo of their large family, “I was about your age when we had our last. Eight healthy children. Fifteen grandchildren. And one very precocious great-grand. So far." 

'I wouldn't mind.' The thought of a house full of their little ones never crossed his mind until that moment. ‘Doubt She would bless us twice.’ "I think we only get the one go at this." He wanted to curse the old man for tainting the joy he had been consumed with since the day they discovered they were to be parents. ‘Why do they have to grow up?”

"Well, nothing stopping you from trying, eh?" He laughs, giving Crowley a feeble pat on the back. "June let the young ones get back to their shopping. We need to be off." Henry calls to his wife.

"Coming dear. You take care of yourself love." She says patting Aziraphale's hand. 

"I will. Thank you for all the wonderful advice." He smiles, blessing away the couple's many infirmities. 

Henry shuffles up to his wife, offering her his elbow. Taking his arm, she gave the pair a farewell grin. They shamble off through the store chattering between themselves. Crowley can't help but overhear Henry comment on his snake tattoo. 

"Weren't they darling," Aziraphale says adoringly to his husband.

"Nosy old codger," Crowley grumbles. 'Didn't have to put that shit in my head.'

Choosing to ignore his husband's curt assessment, he kisses his cheek.

As they continue on their shopping excursion, Crowley couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that overtook him. Not wanting to burden his angel with such unpleasant thoughts he kept to himself. 

Aziraphale meanders further through the shop imagining their child in every outfit he passes. A precious onesie covered in tiny green snakes made him pause. Turning to show his husband he realises Crowley is no longer at his side.

Amid towers of stuffed toys, Crowley stands holding a little star. The plush was a soft yellow, nearly white. A cheery smile and the words Sweet Dreams stitched into the fluffy fabric. Aziraphale's heart aches at the subtle wistful look on his husband's face. Lost to whatever burdened his mind, he didn't notice as Aziraphale comes to stand beside him. "Dearest?" 

Pulled back from thoughts of a not so distant future, he takes a reconciling breath, "Yeah, dove?" 

Seeing reality return to his husband's features, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Just thinking." He admits with a shrug.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Aziraphale asks cheerfully.

Crowley frowns, "They are going to grow up so fast."

‘Oh, my sweet husband.’ "Yes, but they will always be our child," Aziraphale reassures resting his head on his husband’s shoulder. ‘Time will never change our love for them.’

Nearly placing the toy back on the shelf, he is surprised by his angel wrenching the star from his grasp. "What are you doing?"

"You wanted this for them," Aziraphale asks, adding the toy to his collection. 

"Probably won't even like stars." Crowley grouses shoving his hands in his pockets.

"So? They will love this because their father picked it out for them," he states with confidence. 

"That's not how kids work." Crowley huffs.

“Well, even if that is true, when they learn to speak and become self-aware, they can ask for whatever they like best. Until then, stars it is.” Aziraphale says resolutely. ‘How does one not at least appreciate your stars?’

“Tyrant.” Crowley chides in false denunciation.

‘A tyrant am I, dearest?’ Smiling provocatively, he intones, “Love of my existence, father of our child, most beautiful creature in God’s creation.” 

“All that, am I?” he smirks.

“Well if I am a tyrant you are whatever I say you are. And I decree our child will love your stars. If there is any further debate on the matter, I will be forced to take action.” Aziraphale asserts, stepping closer to his husband. Azure eyes challenging for a rebuttal.

“Action, you say? And what pray tell would that be?” Crowley asks with a tilt of his head.

'I have my methods' “I am going to pay for this. Then you are going to take them to the car. I have one more thing I wish to pick up. Alone.” Aziraphale says, turning towards the storefront.

'Like Hell.' Hurrying to halt his angel's progress, "Oh, no. After the bookshop, I'm not leaving you alone."

Giving his husband a disapproving glare, "Dearest, really. I will just be a moment." He walks around his husband.

Crowley once again places himself in his angel's path, "And if there's a repeat attempt on your life?" 

'I appreciate your concern, but you are overreacting.' Placing a hand on his husband's chest, "I am an archangel now, and I have two of e most gorgeous beings to come to my aid. I'll only be two shops down. You can keep the car running for a speedy getaway."

"Fine. But if I have to destroy another shop, it's your fault." He says sauntering towards the register.

Aziraphale doesn't make Crowley wait long. After only a few moments, his angel returns with a black elegant shopping bag. Crowley's interest was piqued when Aziraphale entered the shop with rather racy lingerie in the window display. 

As his angel entered the Bentley, he makes to snatch the bag. Aziraphale quickly moves the items out of reach. Glowering in annoyance at his impertinence. 

"If you ruin my surprise, I will not give it to you." scolds Aziraphale, placing the bag between him and the door.

'This should be interesting.' "Alright, dove. No spoilers." Crowley grins pulling into the London traffic.

3:15 pm  
On the A3 near Liphook

The Bentley threaded between two cars that dared drive the speed limit. Crowley mashes the accelerator bringing the old girl up to full speed. Next to him, his angel clutches the window frame for dear life. 

“Crowley, dearest. I am not sure what has come over you but will you please slow down?” Aziraphale shrieks. The lunch they enjoyed before leaving the city threatening to make a reemergence into the world.

“I will, dove. Soon as I lose this tail.” Crowley says, focusing fully on the road as he avoids colliding with the back of a lorry. 

Yelling, his voice impossibly high, “Crowley you don’t have a tail. Oh Lord, I’m going to be sick.” he groans, his hand coming to cover his mouth.

Looking in the rearview mirror seeing a distant pink smudge,   
“Not a tail tail. Someone’s following us.” 

The Bentley weaves recklessly through traffic. Overtaking any moving obstacle in their path. Once Crowley is sure they have put their pursuer far behind them, he turns off the motorway. Not slowing an instant, they rocket around the winding country road towards their home. 

When he feels confident they are in the clear, he checks his rearview mirror to confirm they are no longer being followed. Crowley sneers, “What kind of idiot stalks someone on a moped?”

Aziraphale curls in on himself, “I have no idea what a moped is.”

Glaring at the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, “Second time I’ve seen them in the past few days.” ‘Couldn’t be Gabriel. Doubt it is another angel.’

“Is that why you have been taking alternate routes home?” asks Aziraphale, trying to focus on choaking down the food rising in his throat. 

“Yeah.” Crowley groans. “Wasn’t certain until today. Thought I was being paranoid.”

“Crowley, you are not protecting us by hiding things from me.” Aziraphale whines resting his head against the window.

The Bentley careens around a sharp turn, “I wasn’t intending on hiding n’ything.” He finally looks over at his angel. The pained look on Aziraphale’s face causing him to slow to a reasonable speed. “Dove, what’s wrong?”

“Pull over.”

The flatness in his angel’s tone was alarming, but he needed to make sure they weren’t rediscovered, “I’d like to put some distance between us.”

Folding forward once again, Aziraphale commands, “If you don’t want me to deface your car, you will pull over this instant.”

Crowley quickly complies. Unceremoniously his angel opens the passenger door. Nearly tumbling from the Bentley, Aziraphale wretches onto the shoulder of the road. Crowley lurches from the car and hurries around to his angel, “Sorry, dove.” Holding back his angel’s ringlets, he waits until the heaving stops. “What do you need?”

“A moment, please.” Aziraphale groans accepting Crowley’s hand to assist him back to rest against the seat. “You were saying something about a moped?” he asks brows furrowed trying to will the nausea to subside.

“Yeah. Saw’em after Violette’s. Lost’em easily that day. Figured I was just imagining things. Then, just now I saw the same pink monstrosity follow us for several kilometres. When I sped up they sped up, when slowed down, they would stay two cars behind us at all times. Hard to bloody misssss.” He hisses, looking back the direction of the motorway. 

Taking his husband’s hand, he pleads, “Just warn me next time.”

“I am sorry, dove. I’ll make you some tea when we get home,” he says, kissing his angel’s hand before returning to the driver’s seat. This time he is far more conscientious as he handles the Bentley back to their little haven. 

4:56 pm   
The Cottage

After tending to his angel, and preparing a roast with the help of one of the recipes Violette gave them at their last lesson, Crowley went off to the greenhouse to clear his head. Henry’s words still weighed on him, though the driver of the pink moped concerned him more. He was busy taking his frustrations out on a young Dublin Bay rose bush. One which he plans on planting outside his angel’s library window after the winter thaw. 

“Crowley?" Aziraphale’s voice calls from the sunroom. 

"In here, dove." He answers, fixing a stem to a bit of trellis. 

Stepping into the greenhouse, "May I trouble you, dearest?" Aziraphale asks meekly.

Checking the soil for the appropriate amount of moisture, "Sure. Just about done."

Pursing his lips, he considers waiting. Then decides his husband wouldn’t mind this interruption, "It's just.” Aziraphale unties his robe and lets it slip to the floor, “Oh, you know what difficulty I have with bras these days.” 

Peripherally Crowley sees the satin fall, pooling at his angel’s feet. "Dove, why didn't ngk…" As his attention is drawn away from his task, he is struck senseless. There, standing in the door of the greenhouse is his angel. Clad in the most tantalising lingerie ensemble Crowley could have never imagined. It nearly consisted entirely of pale blue leather. The bra was so tight his angel’s breasts were barely contained in the cups. Around the constrictive brassiere was a harness consisting of thin leather straps, soft tulle wisps at the shoulder, and shiny silver buckles holding it all together. 

The lower half matched the upper. A harness garter was held in place by the belted piece that accentuated the narrowest curve on his angel’s middle. Two straps crossing over Aziraphale’s lower belly connecting to the second encompassing band, to which the hosiery were connected to. The same tulle ruffles flaring from his angel’s ample hips. Though the panties weren’t leather, they were impossibly sheer, concealing nothing of Aziraphale’s effort. All of this lead down to opaque pure white thigh high stockings. 

Crowley’s own effort was instant in its response. He gripped the wooden workbench as he stared at the vision before him. Never had leather looked so innocent, yet intoxicatingly seductive. ‘This isn’t real. I am hallucinating. What is happening?’

Seeing his husband absolutely stricken witless, he smiles a perfect coquettish grin, "I didn't account for the leather being so constrictive." he says slinking toward Crowley. Who’s gaping stare of astonishment was precisely the reaction he was hoping for. He turns slowly for his dumbfounded demon’s consideration, "Could you…" gazing over his shoulder, "Help me unfasten the bra?"

Crowley can only nod in response. A tentative hand brushes up the curve of his angel’s spine. ‘If this is a hallucination it is a very convincing one.’ Grasping either end of the soft leather, he slowly works the clasps open. 

"Thank you, my love." Aziraphale smiles back at his husband before turning. The bra quickly removed, leaving his breast surrounded by the leather harness alone. His husband silencing a strangled groan with a sudden hand over his mouth. 

Standing just out of reach Aziraphale feigns disappointment, "Oh, I look ridiculous. I should probably…" he goes to leave, but a firm hand captures his and pulls him back. Throwing his arm around his husband’s neck, he giggles "Hello."

Holding his angel securely against him, he is painfully aware of how tight his own leather pants are, "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

The question fills Aziraphale with tender warmth, "You love me." Sapphire eyes speaking earnestly of his words. Their lips met. Aziraphale melting into the kiss. Pulling at the elastic, he frees his husband’s hair. Hands quickly claiming the fiery strands. When they finally broke apart, he smiles shyly under Crowley’s golden gaze. "Good surprise?"

“I’ll say,” Crowley answers, stepping back to take in the paradoxical beauty of his angel. 

Eyes downcast, "I know it's not all leather. But you did say that if I wore a leather outfit, you would wear a kilt."

‘If I knew a bit of tartan could get you in something like this, our closet would be full of tartan.’ "This definitely counts.” he brushes a gentle touch over the upper harness. “Soooo...is this just for exhibition or…"

"Well, that depends." Aziraphale pouts, beginning to unbutton his husband’s shirt.

"On?" he asks with a raised brow.

Looking up at Crowley between his lashes, "You." 

Quickly clearing a spot on the workbench, he barely notices as a pot crashes to the ground. Kneeling before his angel, he unfastens the clasps from the hosiery. Hastily drawing down the sheer panties, assisting his angel to step free. Without a word, he refastens the garter. Smoothing his hands worshipfully over Aziraphale’s plump thighs. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” 

“I assure you, my love, you are not alone in this,” he says, smiling down on his cherished husband. 

Crowley scoops his angel up and deposits Aziraphale on the edge of the work surface. His angel’s excitement crashing into him as their mouths meet in a forceful kiss. Pressing his angel against the glass, he grinds his clothed arousal between Aziraphale’s welcoming thighs. Insistent hands tug at the hem of his shirt. 

Stepping back, he assists his angel in removing the barrier. Once free, he quickly takes his angel’s breast in his mouth. Teeth grazing the perk bud, earning him a breathy moan. 

Cupping both breasts, thumbs worrying at each nipple Crowley’s mouth trails lower. Tongue tasting the divine sweetness of his angel’s pale skin. He pauses just before Aziraphale’s flushed folds. Giving the little bead a flick of his tongue, causing his angel to jump at the sensation. Hands tangle in his hair. He laps at Aziraphale, encouraged by the staggered breaths each curl of his tongue elicits. 

Closing his mouth on the pearl, he begins to suck, the end of his tongue still caressing circles at the tip of the swollen bud. The barbs of pleasure rolling through him spur him on. Two fingers breach his angel’s entrance, causing his angel’s hands to fist in his hair. His name a staggering prayer on each soft keen. 

Aziraphale forces himself to look down at his exquisite husband. The building pleasure spiralling towards his peak. Then just before him, nearly obscured by the thick foliage of the greenhouse Aziraphale sees a pair of dark eyes watching their intimate exchange. “CROWLEY!”

Crowley shoots up at his angel’s alarm. Looking over Aziraphale for any injury, “What? What is it?”

Aziraphale shoves his husband’s shoulder to face the retreating figure. “S-someone’s...in the garden.”

Crowley runs for the external door, “Stay here!” sprinting through their garden as fast as his lanky limbs could carry him he runs down the intruder. Crashing into the smaller man just as they reach the first tree line, toppling to the lawn. 

Crowley is quick to his feet, yanking the peeping tom up with him. He quickly recognises the little Disposable from his angel’s trial, “How the fuck did you find us?” he growls with all the menace a being of Hell could muster.

“I uh…” the Disposable stammers in the demon’s grip. 

Crowley slams the Disposable hard against a sturdy oak, “Spit it out.”

The little disposable shrieks in panic, “Your car. I’ve been following you. It sticks out, you know. Wasn’t that hard, really.”

‘F’course it’s my fucking fault.’ “Who sent you?” Crowley demands, pulling the Disposable off his toes by his ratty lapels. 

“B-Beelzebub! Gabriel said the angel is pregnant. W-wanted me to confirm it.” he stammers, feet trying to gain footing on the trunk behind him. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice calls from behind him.

He turns to find his angel peeking around the greenhouse door. The satin robe pulled on for modesty’s sake. “Aziraphale for once in your existence, don’t be stubborn. Do this one thing I ask and stay inside." he barks, not meaning to sound so harsh.

When he turns back to his captive, he sees the Disposable craning to get a peek at Aziraphale, “Don’t look at my angel.” he growls low, serpent eyes fully on display. “What does Beelzebub want with my imaginary kid?”

“It’s Lucifer who wants it. Said something about restarting Armageddon. That your child would work just as good as his.” The little demon shrivels under the predatory glare.

"Sssso they sssssend a Disssspossssable to sssspy on me?" Crowley hisses in disgust.

Panicking, “Um...I think...I was just told to confirm. Nobody believes Gabriel.”

Levelling his gaze with the little demon, “Listen to me. This means your life. What exactly were your orders?”

The calmness in the demon’s tone was far more alarming than his rage. “Lord Beelzebub told me to find you. That you were once stationed in London but moved. They gave me your last known miracle locations. Said if I found out anything I was to report directly to them. That, if I breathed a word of it to anyone else before speaking with them, they would make me drink holy water. They didn’t look happy. Lucifer has been riding their ass since the failed Apocalypse.”

“What have you told them?” 

“Nothing. I’ve had nothing really to report until today.” The little demon admits still trying to stand. 

‘Just doing your damn job. Sorry kid. It’s my family over you.’ “You know I can’t let you leave.”

“Listen, listen. I don’t think Beelzebub wants this.” He offers, hoping to stay the demon’s hand. “They said...shit. I overheard them. You know nobody pays any attention to a Disposable. They are angry with Lucifer. There is talk of rebellion. Bee is sick of serving, wants to call the shots. Especially since Gabriel got down there, he’s Lucifer’s new little favourite. Out for blood that one.”

“Why sssshould I believe you?” he hisses.

“Believe what you want. I’m either dead by your hands or theirs. Honestly, I am a huge fan of yours. I love the subtlety of your recent work. Selfies, brilliant. I really hate it down there.” the little demon relents, sagging in Crowley’s grip.

“Great. A fucking groupie.” he groans, releasing the Disposable. “You move, and I will destroy you.”

“Yes, Master Crowley.” bows the little demon. 

“Dearest?” Aziraphale calls out again. 

"Be right there, dove." Crowley answers. He leads the little demon to the garage and finds a bit of rope and a rag leftover from their move. The Disposable is bound and blindfolded before being forced into the back of the Bentley. 

"What do we do?" Aziraphale whispers just inside the hall near the garage. 

“If we kill him, they will just send others." Crowley scowls, leaning against the threshold, keeping the little demon in sight.

"I'm not one for murder. But if we don't kill him, he will reveal our location, and we'll have Hell at our door." Aziraphale studies the floor at the thought. 'I got us into this. I should have listened to you. If we remained home today. If I just stuck to our bloody plan in Heaven, we wouldn't be in this mess.'

Pinching the bridge of his nose, "I am aware." 'Why does everything have to be so difficult?' "Disposable!" He yells into the garage.

The Bentley dampens his voice, "I'm...my name is Eric, your… Master Crowley."

Hurrying to the Bentley, he opens the passenger door, "Fine, Eric. You will return to Beelzebub. Tell them I want to meet with them. Tell them I can help with their… problem." Crowley instructs.

"Do you think that is wise, dearest?" Aziraphale asks, coming up to stand beside his husband. 'I've endangered you once again. I must think of a way to fix this.'

"We'll talk later," Crowley whispers in his angel's ear. Shoving his head back into the Bentley, "I'll be at my flat tomorrow at 10:00 pm. Tell them to come alone."

Nervously Aziraphale smiles at the blindfolded demon, "If you could not mention where you found us… that is…you could say Crowley discovered you before you were able to locate our home."

"I'm not lying to Bee." Eric laughs at the absurdity of the request. 

"Oh, don't worry about that. We're going for a drive." Crowley sends Aziraphale upstairs to change. The roast is left on the counter. His mind working over every possible outcome. 'Can't be helped. I have to protect them. I have to protect them. Fucking Gabriel you walking ballbag. If I do this and Beelzebub fails we have a bigger target on our backs. If they succeed, we could be free. None of this would be a problem if I hadn't Fallen.’ He paces the length of the Bentley cursing his luck. 

Aziraphale appears in the doorway. Doleful blue eyes on the verge of tears, looking at the state of his husband. “Crowley I…”

“Not now, dove. We’ll talk after.” He hurried to open the door for his angel. “Please don’t say anything until we get rid of him.”

Aziraphale nods and takes his usual position in the Bentley. ‘You are angry with me, and I only have myself to blame.’

7:36 pm 

They drive far out of the way to Swindon. On a secluded road, Crowley pulls the Bentley to the shoulder. Cutting the lights, he leaves them in complete darkness. His own eyes affording him a clear vision in the low light. Surveying their surroundings, he makes sure they are alone. “I’ll just be a moment, dove,” he reassures his clearly upset angel. ‘I will fix this. I won’t let them have you.’ Exiting the Bentley, he barks to the Disposable, "Out."

Eric, as always does as commanded. Crowley removes the blindfold, snapping his fingers. The little demon goes rigid. "You will not remember anything about my home, seeing my angel, or anything said beyond my asking to meet with Lord Beelzebub. When you wake, you will remember me catching you in London and will return to Hell with my message."

Aziraphale whispers to his husband from the car, "Crowley, will that work?"

‘Like a charm.’ "Disposables are susceptible to influence. Part of their nature." He turns back to Eric, "What are you going to tell Beelzebub?"

"Master Crowley caught me. He wants to meet at his flat tomorrow at 10:00 pm. He said you are to come alone. He wants to help you with your problem." The Disposable recites flatley. 

"What of the angel?" Crowley asks, pacing around Eric. 

"Never saw the angel." The disposable shrugs. 

Satisfied he climbs back into the Bentley. When they are out of sight, Crowley snaps releasing the Disposable to carry out his new mission. 

Aziraphale finally allows his emotions to come flooding to the surface. Tears prickled his eyes. Yet, as he was the cause of their current situation crying was not appropriate, "Dearest, I trust you, implicitly, but…” guilt chewed at his insides, “You were right. I should have never told anyone about our child."

"It's done, dove. I just hope Beelzebub will hear me out." His mind was so lost in formulating a plan he didn’t notice the anguish his angel was currently suffering. 

‘I am going to be the death of you. You will die because I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut. I am a terrible spouse.’ "What is the likelihood of that?" he asks timidly. 

"Depends on their mood, honestly," Crowley says replaying all of his interactions with his former sibling. ‘They may be more reasonable than Lucifer, but only just.’

They rode in silence through the night. Crowley kept to rural roads to avoid any prying eyes. He called out to Her from the privacy of his mind. ‘Watch over them. Protect them if I fail. Please forgive me. It’s my fault they are in danger. Don’t hurt them to punish me.’

Beside Crowley, Aziraphale felt his world falling apart. His husband’s silence a testament of his anger. If it were possible, he would take this burden on himself alone. ‘I am so sorry, my love.’ A single tear fell down his cheek. 'Gabriel was right. I am a failure of an angel.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	25. The Serpent and the Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley meets with a devil.

Sunday 17 November 2019  
7:33 am  
The Cottage

Upon returning home, Aziraphale went directly to his library to consult the long-deceased witch. All thought of anything beyond finding a solution to their current situation was lost to him. Each page of the manuscript was meticulously examined for any mention of Lucifer, Beelzebub, Hell, or his husband. New notes are taken, each compared to other works in his collection. For the last several hours he sat in complete silence working the cryptic text over in his mind. Until everything blends into incoherent gibberish. There is a soft knock at the door that pulls him from the tempest of words. 

“Dove?” Crowley pushes the door open just enough to peer inside. There, bathed in the early morning light that seeps through the window, is his angel. Surrounded by a chaos of papers and books. 

“Crowley, my love.” ‘I am so sorry. I haven’t found anything yet.’

“Can I come in?” he asks, half expecting to be sent away. 

“Of course, dearest,” Aziraphale says softly. ‘Why would you ask? This is as much your home as mine.’ Crowley pushes the door open, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. The simple gesture of care made his guilt knot all the tighter in his stomach. ‘I have doomed you, and you are still concerned with my comfort.’ He rises so suddenly from his chair. It nearly topples to the floor. His husband sets the tray down on the little coffee table near their old couch. Hurrying over, Aziraphale feels the world shift beneath him. His vision blurs, and his blood runs cold, “C-Crowley…”

The tremble in his angel’s voice startles him. He turns, blue eyes distant, staring into an unseen void, arms limp, legs bowing, “Angel!” He is there, catching his angel before Aziraphale could fall to the floor. Delicate features are still. His angel lay utterly limp in his arms. “Angel!” Crowley lowers them both to the ground. “Dove!” he shouts, patting his angel’s face. ‘Shit, shit, shit. What happened?’ “Wakeup Damn You!” ‘Come on, angel. Fucking wake up.’

His husband’s voice pulls him from the haze. ‘Wake up? When did I fall asleep?’ “I’m-I’m awake.” ‘Why is the room spinning?’ “I am fine, dearest. Ju-just need…”

Panic tears at his mind, “Damn it, Aziraphale! You haven’t eaten, you didn’t sleep last night. You know you have to take care of yourself!” ‘You have been in this room all night. I should have checked on you sooner. I should have dragged you to our nest. I could have brought you something at least. Some fucking husband I am. Leaving you to worry yourself to death.’ 

‘I know. Please don’t be angry. Our child. I’ve hurt them.’ “I am so sorry, Crowley. I…” confusion, fear, guilt and the horrible events of the past month all come crashing down. He curls into his husband, clutching at his shirt. Tears which have been kept restrained break free. The choking sobs muffled by Crowley’s chest.

‘Fuck! Stupid. Go and neglect your angel, then shout at them. Fucking brilliant. Fix this.’ Hugging Aziraphale close, he begins to sway gently. He focuses his voice to the soft timbre he knows his angel appreciates, “Shhhh, dove. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” ‘I am such a wanker.’ Kissing those perfect starlight curls, he forces back his own tears, “Dove, please. Please don’t cry.” he smooths the hair away from Aziraphale’s face. Pressing a kiss to his angel’s temple. “Dove? Please talk to me.”

“Th-this...is all...my fault. If-if it wasn’t f-for me…” He struggles to say between gasping breaths, “I should have never...it was bad luck. W-we were...supposed to l-lay low. T-they f...found us because I wouldn’t listen. I never listen! They know about...about our child because I didn’t...Why didn’t I listen? Y-you would… would be better off w-with-without me.”

Crowley’s heart seizes. “Aziraphale!” He grasps his angel by the shoulders. This time he does mean to shout, “Look at me, damn you!” Aziraphale complies. Slowly blue eyes open. The guilt and pain that plead with Crowley pierce his essence, “Don’t you ever say anything like that ever again! Don’t even think it!” he snarls. His angel crumbles back into hysterical tears. Crowley holds Aziraphale close once more. Cursing Hell, cursing their situation, and cursing himself. “I love you. Do you hear me? I love you, and we will figure this out.” ‘I will fix this.’

“You are always i-in harm’s way because of m-me.” Aziraphale whimpers against his husband’s neck. 

Tilting his angel’s chin, he stares down into swollen troubled eyes, “I was in harms way long before I met you Aziraphale. Part of being a demon.” his voice soothing and calm. “Listen to me, dove. Gabriel would have found a way to come after us regardless of our child. If you had lied, it would have probably just made things worse.” He wipes tears from his angel’s cheek. “And I was joking about the bad luck thing. The Disposable said he had been following my car. He’s probably been searching for us since the trial. Honestly, I am surprised we’ve managed to avoid them this long.” He feels his angel relax in his arms. Aziraphale’s sobs calm to huffing breaths.

‘Why are you so patient with me?’ “I love you, Crowley.”

“I love you too, dove.” he does the only thing that makes sense and seals their lips in a kiss. His angel relaxes even more. A trembling hand rests on his cheek. After a long moment, Crowley pulls away, “Let’s get you off the floor. I brought tea.”

Crowley slowly assists Aziraphale to stand, cautious of another fainting spell. Carefully he guides them around their couch. Moving the tray to the end table, he pours his angel a warm cup. Eyes carefully watching for any signs of sudden exhaustion, he sits first. One long leg stretched along the length of the sofa. The other spread wide leaving room for his angel to sit between them. He guides Aziraphale to the cushion, back resting against his chest. Nimble fingers combing through soft ringlets. “Comfortable?”

“Yes, my love. Thank you.” Aziraphale accepts the cup brought to his hands. With a sip, all of the lingering ice in his veins melts away. 

“Now you are going to finish your tea. Then you are going to eat that whole damn plate of biscuits. After that, you are going to rest.”

“I have to…”

“Rest. You can go back to your witch later.” 

Aziraphale does as instructed. The confusion slowly ebbing away. Crowley seeing that his angel’s cup is frequently refreshed until the biscuits are indeed all consumed. When at last Aziraphale is resting comfortably in his arms, Crowley draws his phone from his pocket. After a few taps on the screen, the velvety crooning of B.B. King fills their library. Their song from that night in Nice playing faintly. Crowley hums along to the melody. Soon enough, his angel’s breathing slows, features relax, a faint smile on soft lips. 

Several long hours pass. Crowley remains still as only one of their kind can. His mind working over his plan. A plan he is sure his angel will not like. Unconsciously a hand slips to the swell of his angel's stomach. 'You haven't even seen this world yet, and you've already had to fight. I'm going to make it, so you never have to fight again. I am going to protect you and your mum. And if I never get to meet you, please know I love you.'

It’s a dream. He knows he’s dreaming because the earth is warm beneath him. The sun high in a cloudless sky, the world around him is bursting with life and beauty. The sound of the little stream that runs past their house mingles with the happy song of birds. Everything is peaceful. 

His solitude is interrupted by the crunch of grass beneath bare feet. Turning, he sees a little silhouette haloed by the golden rays of the sun. Though Aziraphale can not make out their features, the child is so familiar he knows they are smiling. “Mum, dad really needs you.”

“Where is your father?”

“He’s waiting on you to wake up.” the little mirthful voice answers. They turn and race back towards their cottage. Giggling as they disappear behind a dense hedge of purple hydrangeas. 

‘Wake up.’ The dream fades, the sun’s heat concentrating at his back. He is suddenly aware of the gentle caress on his belly. ‘Crowley.’ His husband’s hand stops. ‘Did they speak to me? Was that you, little one?’ Aziraphale brings his own hand to his husband’s, holding it in place. "Please, you don't have to stop, dearest."

"Didn't mean to wake you, dove."

"It's alright." Lifting his shirt, he places his husband's hand on his bare abdomen. "I wish we could feel them." ‘Do they come to you as they do me?’

"You will in a month or so." Crowley purrs in his angel's ear.

"Crowley?" He tilts his head to better see his husband. ‘This I could give to you. After everything that has happened, it is only right.’

"Yes, dove?" 

Resting his head against his husband’s shoulder, "You aren't in favour of the name Etzbael, correct?" Aziraphale asks studying golden eyes.

Looking down at the little bump, "It’s not all that bad. Just want our kid to have something a bit more… normal, I guess." 

"Well, why don't we pick one?" he smiles, caressing his husband’s forearm. 

The corner of Crowley’s mouth raises in contemplation, “We don't know if they will be a boy or girl yet. Or if they will even have a gender."

"Well, then, perhaps a name that is a bit androgynous. Or can be easily altered to accommodate whoever they may be."

Crowley considered the question. Briefly, he had mused over several names to himself. One, in particular, resonates with him the most. Thinking on it now he had already begun to use the name privately. Yet they had never really spoken of going against their child’s God-given name. "We could. What brought this on?"

Their child’s laughter echos in his mind, "Pleasant dream, I suppose."

"Have an idea then?" he asks, kissing his angel’s forehead. ‘Anything but Oscar.’

"Actually, I was hoping you would choose."

‘Putting a lot of faith in me here, angel.’ "I don't know…” he sighs. Though he did know, he thinks on things they both enjoy, common interest, flowers, stars, authors, even food. For a moment he even considers joking about naming their child wine, but quickly decides against it. He thinks of all the humans they have met. All the brilliant minds that did more than they ever dare to shape the world they both loved so much. Every name a possibility. Yet he always came back to the one. “Alexandria."

"Like the city?" 

"Well, you loved the library. The veritable compendium of all human knowledge, at the time. Fucking Ceaser." he groans, thinking back on yet another destructive fire. "The man it was named for wasn’t wholly bad either. It’s a strong name. Alexander for a boy. Alexandria for a girl. And if they aren't either Alex." This was not his personal reasoning. In fact, Crowley couldn’t think of a reason himself. To him, the name just felt right.

"Anthony, Aziraphale, Alexandria?" he considers looking up at his husband.

‘Hell while we are counting A’s might as well throw in auntie Anathema. “Didn't think about that. We don't have to." Even the thought of forfeiting the name felt wrong.

The little silhouette from the memory of his dream seemed to shine all the brighter. "No. Alexandria Etzbael Crowley. It’s beautiful, my love."

"Think so?” ‘That will be a mouthful if they are ever in trouble.’

“Yes. Alexandria. It’s perfect.” The name seemed to fit, like a puzzle piece you thought was lost.

Crowley’s phone on the arm of the sofa buzzes. Picking it up, he quickly checks the message. Before his angel could read the exchange, he forces it into his pocket. “Anathema wants us to pop over. Her mother flew in.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale sits up, turning to look at his husband. ‘Is it wise if they are looking for us? Will they send others?’ “Do you think we should?”

“Yeah.” Knowing what his real intentions were made it impossible to meet his angel’s gaze. ‘This is for the best.’ “I said you would want to meet her.”

‘There is something you aren’t saying.’ “Thank you, dearest.” 

“Feel like you can manage the stairs?” He asks still not looking at his angel.

“Yes. I am sorry to have worried you, dearest. Again.” crestfallen, he stares up at Crowley through his lashes.

‘I hope you forgive me for what I am going to do.’ "Its alright, dove. Come on.”

Once upstairs they shower, both taking turns to wash the other. Crowley was committing every inch of his angel’s form to memory. Aziraphale, in turn, tends to his husband with all the reverence one might pay the Almighty. When they are both satisfied Crowley holds his angel until the water begins to grow cool. 

Dressing happens much the same. Each assisting and taking as long as needed. Aziraphale in a blue satin blouse, loose beige cable knit jumper, denim pants, a wide wool tartan scarf, comfortable brown leather boots, and a very chic cream coat that nearly reaches his ankles. Crowley dons his leathers, a black fitted turtle neck, black wool overcoat, snakehead belt, and deep red scarf. As usual, their contrast is striking. Aziraphale loosely plats Crowley’s damp hair. 

Standing at the garage door, Crowley adjusts his angel’s scarf. “Right. Better get a move on.”

Something haunts his husband’s features. Aziraphale fears Crowley is putting on a brave face to keep him calm. Sliding his hands under the heavy coat, encircling his husband’s narrow waist, "Tonight we'll get through this. Together. We are on our own side."

Pulling his angel into an embrace, he buries his nose in drying curls, "Yeah." ‘This is for the best.’

3:19 pm   
Jasmine Cottage

Lower Tadfield is just as pleasant as ever. The rain which plagues most of England this time of year finds itself uninterested in the former antichrist’s little hamlet. Though, there is a strong breeze carrying the winter chill through the quiet streets, speaking of snow in the near future.

On the steps of Jasmine Cottage, Aziraphale and Crowley are greeted by Anathema with an apologetic smile. An elegant woman, looking far too young to have a daughter of Anathema’s age hurries over to meet the pair. “Hola. You must be Aziraphale and Crowley. Yseble Device.” she says in her alluring Spanish accent. 

“A pleasure Mrs Device.” Aziraphale smiles politely taking her hand.

“Oh, no. I never married.” She smiles to her daughter’s guests. 

Anathema takes their coats and ushers the angel and demon past her mother into the lounge. Ysabel following closely behind. As before Aziraphale and Crowley take the sofa while Anathema and her mother sit in the chairs just opposite them. Crowley sees the tension between them. If he were looking for an easy mark, these two would be ripe for the picking.

“As a matter of fact, the Device line is completely female. Not a single male born to us since before Agnes’s time.” she looks to Anathema. “As such, it is our duty to preserve the family name.” 

“Ma, we have talked about this.” Anathema sighs refusing to look at her mother’s disapproving stare. 

“Mi Amor, you have a duty to this family. A destiny. Far greater than being a common housewife. You are a witch. A Device.”

Crowley interjects, “Preserve your name? What does that have to do with n’ything?”

Ysabel sits proudly, “The Device name connects us to our heritage. We are an unbroken line tracing all the way back to Virtue Device.”

Feigning confusion Crowley challenges the older witch, “Yeah, but shouldn’t it be Nutter?”

“Excuse me?” Ysabel looks to the demon as if he just spat on her face.

“If you are so concerned about names shouldn’t you want Nutter? I mean, she was the famous one. Not Device.” The appreciative look he receives from their witch emboldens him. “Afterall it’s The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter.” 

“Virtue Device was Agnes’s only child. We are her legacy. It is an honour to carry that name. Our family owes her respect.” 

“Eh...perhaps you once did.” Seeing Newton enter the room, he continues, “Seems like something trivial to hold on to now. Maybe the Apocalypse was a chance for something new? Worked out fairly well for us.” 

Seeing the conversation leading towards an argument Aziraphale cuts in, “We appreciate all the help your ancestor has given us. I doubt we would be here today without her wisdom.” 

Ysabel relaxes in her chair, “She was a remarkable woman.” She gives Crowley another appraising look, before returning her focus to Aziraphale, “So you are with child?”

Smoothing down his jumper, “Yes. One day short of fourteen weeks.”

Again she cuts the demon an assessing look, “My daughter tells me you wish to deliver the child at home.”

“We do.” Aziraphale says, reclaiming her attention, “We aren’t certain how the baby will come into this world. We would rather not risk unwanted attention.”

This time her question is posed directly to Crowley, “Are you still interested in my services?”

Giving his husband a silencing look, “Yes, Ma’am. We would be most appreciative.”

The edge of her displeasure fades, “Very well. I will remain in England until you deliver."

“Thank you, Ms Device.” Aziraphale smiles, politely nudging his husband to follow suit. 

"Will you be staying with us?" ‘Please, God, say no.’

"If you like. I have the means to find my own living arrangements." Ysabel smiles to the angel. 

Wanting to end any further potential for confrontation, Aziraphale takes his husband’s hand with a gentle squeeze. ‘Stop, we need her.’ “We will leave that up to your discretion. We don’t wish to impose any more than we already have.”

“It is no imposition.” Ysabel shifts subtly to peer over at her daughter. 

“Bookgirl what’s for supper? Smells good.”Crowley asks. A warm, savoury smell fills the little cottage. 

“Pollo Guisado. One of Mi Amor’s favourites.” she gives her daughter an earnest smile. Anathema gives her mother an appreciative smile in return. Ysabel turns back to Aziraphale, “By chance did you bring Agnes's manuscript?”

Dinner went far better than anyone expected. Only the two who had spent time with the manuscript knew the cause. Aziraphale helpfully showed the witch her own mention in Agnes’s further prophecies. One which confirmed the demon’s earlier assessment of her daughter’s situation. 

Newton too seemed to notice the more amiable change in Anathema’s mother. No longer did she regard the young man with polite hostility. Like everything else touched by the wise woman, things seem to be going according to plan. Even ones that had yet to unfold.

When everyone left the table, Crowley and Aziraphale sat once again on the sofa. A welcome fire flickering in the fireplace. They both sat silently in the amber glow. Checking his watch Crowley knows their enjoyable evening has come to an end, “It’s time for me to go, dove.”

He sits up, studying his husband’s face.‘You? Not us?’ “Go? What do you mean?” 

“This is for the best.’ Crowley forces himself to meet his angel’s panicking eyes, “Dove, I have to go alone.”

“You are not leaving me here!" he demands, pulling away from his husband’s arms. 

Crowley tries to take Aziraphale’s hand only to have it snatched out of reach. "Angel, please, dove, understand. If things go sideways, it is far easier to get myself out."

Aziraphale stands glaring down on his husband, "If things go sideways they could capture you, hurt you, or God forbid destroy you." From the kitchen, the human’s conversation dies down. 

"I know, dove. It's a gamble."

"A gamble with your life! I will not...I can not allow you too… too…" the room begins to compress around him. “Crowley don’t do this.” Pacing before the fire, hands wringing his mind screaming a warning. ‘What was it? The Fly. The Fly and destruction.The s'rpent shalt speaketh salvation, but destruction hast a fin'r ringeth.’ “Agnes said Beelzebub will want destruction, not peace. Please. Give me more time. I will find another way.”

Crowley stands, taking his angel’s hands, "There's no more time. If I don't meet with them, they will see it as an insult. And we lose this chance."

"What chance?" Aziraphale shouts. ‘A chance for Hell to get their revenge? To be destroyed?’ Struggling to breathe, every horrible eventuality claws at his mind. 

Crowley’s hands clutch his angel’s biceps, "Dove, look at me." stooping to meet Aziraphale’s distant stare, "Dove, please."

"No!” Aziraphale pulls away. Tears begin streaming down his cheeks, “You are running off and leaving me here to...it’s...Crowley please… after what you told me…h-how...they…"

“Please understand.’ "Dove, I love you…"

Anger and fear erupt inside him, "But you'll leave me here? Go off on some suicide mission with no guarantee of possible success! And I'll be left to hope you'll return to us!"

Crowley grabs Aziraphale, holding his trembling angel firmly against him. "Aziraphale…"

Aziraphale shoves his husband away, "It’s not just you and me anymore!" The room is too hot, the air stifling. He backs away from Crowley. From the corner of his eye, he sees the door. Without thinking he runs, bolting from the cottage into the biting cold of the night. Everything inside him screams for him to flee. Make for their cottage, or the bookshop, for anywhere other than here. A faint voice within him halts his retreat, ‘I’m doing it again. Pushing him away when things are difficult.’ The fridged air prickles on each heaving breath. ‘Is this how you want things to end? Do you want his last memories of you to be your back?’ Warm arms wrap around him. 

Crowley clings desperately to his angel from behind. Forehead resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder, "Dove, please don't be mad."

Leaning into the comforting embrace, "I am...I am not mad. I am terrified for you."

Crowley hurries to face his angel. Long hands cupping chilled, tear-stained cheeks, "I promise I am coming back. I'm not going to give this up."

"Y-you can't promise m-me that.” Aziraphale hugs his husband, resting his head on his chest. Once again, he is enveloped in his husband’s embrace. “Let me go with you." he pleads. ‘I can help. I can protect you. I am an Archangel. That has to count for something.’

‘This is for the best. They are safer here. Please understand.’ "No Aziraphale. It's too dangerous. If Beelzebub sees you, cat's officially out of the bag. They might not care, but there is no way of knowing that for certain."

"Please Crowley. I can't...”

"I am going to do everything I can to ensure their safety and yours. That means you staying here."

'This is my fault. If you are destroyed, I will never forgive myself.' "I…I am so sorry." his legs begin to give. Crowley quickly moves them to the little bench before they have a repeat of that morning. 

"Listen to me. You are going to stop that right now. We have already discussed this. You are not to blame. Nothing, Aziraphale. Nothing is going to keep me from you.” he tilts his angel’s face to look at him, “You are my world. I love you."

Aziraphale attempts a smile, "As you are mine."

"When I get back I'll make this up to you," Crowley vows, wiping away his angel’s tears. 

"No.” Aziraphale takes his husband’s hand and places it on their child. Cobalt glistening pools pleading with gold, “Just come back to us. That's all I want."

"I promise, dove." 

Their lips crash in a desperate kiss. Passion mixing with fear as they cleave to each other. 6,000 years of love poured into their embrace. Hands seeking, mouths melding, essences reaching out for one another. If It weren’t for fear of drawing unwanted attention to them, Crowley would have stopped time to prolong this moment. 

When at last they could no longer ignore the cold Crowley walks his angel back into the warmth of Jasmine Cottage. Good-byes seeming too finite, they part. Ysabel takes Aziraphale into the kitchen for tea. Anathema walks Crowley to the Bentley in sombre silence. Just before opening the door, he slides on his sunglasses. "If I don't come back, take care of my angel.” he looks to the witch. “Please."

"Of course," Anathema assures. 

Crowley nods and enters his faithful car. He drives off towards London. The Show Must Go On by Queen blaring over the speakers. 

9:55  
Mayfair, London

His flat was empty and cold. Fitting for an occasion such as this. His own pacing footsteps resounding off of the stark walls. Crowley didn’t even bother with the lights. He was a snake; after all, darkness suited him. Part of him wanted to break his own rule and be halfway through a single malt scotch before The Lord of Flies made their appearance. 

Finally, his wait ended. The silence was broken by the buzz of his doorbell. The familiar sound was now sinister and foreboding. Crowley walked to the door, heart lodged high in his throat. ‘No going back.’ He steels his face and opens the door. Standing in the cold of the hall was the diminutive yet powerful demon.

"Traitor." they greet with disdain. 

‘Play the game.’ "Lord Beelzebub, do come in." Crowley steps aside as his former boss stalks into the flat. 

They walk into the former study and stop, assessing the bare room, "What do you want? I’ve got better things to do than to muck about with the likes of you."

Sauntering around the Prince of Hell, "I just want to be left alone."

Beelzebub scoffs, "Gabriel seems to think you’re going to be a father."

‘Gabriel can eat shit.’ "Just want to retire in peace." Crowley says as casually as he was currently able, which was impressive by anyone’s standards.

"R’tire? Peazzze?” they ask in annoyance, “You may be immune to Holy water Crawly. B’t your are still a demon.” they smile in wicked delight. “Peazzze is not meant for us.” Folding their arms over their chest, they glare at Crowley, “The Dizzzposable I sent said you had an offer for me?”

“I do,” he growls low. “Holy water.”

Their reaction is instant. Anger and fear prickling in the air around them, “You have me come all the way here to threaten me?”

“No,” Crowley answers beginning to circle the Prince. “I asked you to come here because I want to be left alone. You came here because you are tired of serving Lucifer. E’m I right?” he stops, grinning at the secret that was surely dangerous for anyone to speak aloud. 

“Fucking Dizzzposables. So what of it? I’m suppozzzed to what? Let you walk into Hell with a jug of Holy water, then? You wouldn't get clozzze enough to use it.” Beelzebub sneers.

“I can’t, but you could. I’ll even throw in a little extra for your new best friend, Gabe.” Crowley smiles in his own wicked glee. 

“Me?” 

‘Take the fucking bait.’ “Think of it Beelzebub. Lucifer has always been a twat. Manipulated you straight to Hell. For whot? If he was as powerful as he claims why did his plans go to shit?” he circles his prey. 

“Becauzzze you betrayed uzzzz.” they glare at the continually moving demon. 

“N’then to do with me.” Crowley steps closer, “His kid told Daddy to shove his bullshit back up his flaming arse.” He slithers around Beelzebub, “Listen, you’re a clever demon. Do you really think God can be defeated? She made us. She can unmake us just as easily.”

“So I’m suppozzzed to whot? Douzzze Lucifer with Holy water? If I did that it would open it up for anyone to turn it around on me.” They ask in increasing annoyance. 

“Little birds tell me you are already planning a coup. Idle talk or do you have support?” Crowley asks, with all the cavalier indifference he was ever capable of. 

“There’s no rebellion.” they deny flatly. 

“C’mon Bee who the Heaven am I going to tell? I am more than happy to never see any of you again.” 

“I don’t trust you.” They turn towards the door. 

“What am I asking you to trust? I give you the Holy water, and you never see or hear anything from me again. Nor I you.” Crowley says fixing Beelzebub with his serpent glare. Eyes still obscured by dark lenses. 

“I haven’t gone native like you. I could just as easily be destroyed.” They say considering the offer. 

‘That’s it. Seal the deal.’ “Then be careful. Get a Disposable to handle it. Do what you want. I just want to be off Hell’s radar. If you are calling the shots, and we come to an agreement that’s win enough f’me.”

“S’ppozzze we did? When could I expect delivery?” They ask, fixing their posture, trying to appear taller than they are. 

‘Got you, Bee.’ “Meet me here. Tomorrow night. Alone. I’ll not deal with anyone else.” 

They scrutinise Crowley with scepticism, “How do I know you won’t betray me?”

“I’d tell you to have faith, but you’re a demon,” he smirks. “Try... pragmatism. What would I stand to gain by betraying you?”

Beelzebub doesn’t say a word. They deliberate over the idea. When their assessment can find no danger, they look back to Crowley. 

‘You are far too easy.’ “And what do I get for helping you?” Crowley intones.

“Freedom.” Something in their expression seems to hint they want that as well. 

“Right. You get power, and I get freedom. Best for both of us.” He bows before the Prince in false submission.

“I’ll think about it.” They make for the door.

“Same time then?” Crowley asks, knowing he has Beelzebub secure on his hook. 

Without turning back, they shout, “I said I’d think about it!” 

Before The Lord of Flies can reach the door, an idea strikes Crowley, “There might be another way.” 

They turn radiating irritation, “Someth’n more stupid than holy water?”

‘Careful.’ “What do you remember from before the Fall?”

“What the fuck do you care?” Beelzebub glares. Rarely had Crowley seen them this angry. They march back into the dark room. Eyes icy with contempt.

‘More than you want to admit by your reaction.’ “I remember everything. Who we were.”

“And now we are not!”   
.  
“We could be.” Crowley offers as if trying to calm a spooked horse. 

“We are damned. There is no going back.” They say more trying to remind themselves. 

“There is. If you truly want to be forgiven.”

“I’ll hear none of this.” They storm from the room. Rage and uncertainty in every step. 

“She said if I found one,” Crowley calls out. He hears them pause. “Just one demon to repent. She would forgive us all.”

They shout from the foyer, “And what of us that don’t want forgiveness?”

Crowley walks to the door, “I dunno. Free will, I guess. Never got the chance to ask. Just think about it, yeah? You could be free of him.”

“And serve Her again? No.” Beelzebub wrenches the door open. They make for the elevator without looking back. 

“You know how to reach me!” he yells before the elevator doors can close. ‘Shouldn’t have pushed it. Fuck. Well, at least I’m not dead.’ 

Crowley lets out a relieved huff. Gathering himself, he heads downstairs after allowing Beelzebub enough time to clear the building. He is back in his Bentley speeding through London with renewed purpose. 

Monday 18 November 2019  
12:57 am  
Jasmine Cottage

Five long hours pass for Aziraphale. Ysabel had offered him the guest bedroom, he opted for the sofa instead. There would be no sleep for him that night. Anathema kindly brought him a blanket and a cup of cocoa, which the latter went untouched. She and Newt waited in the kitchen in case the worst should happen.

Aziraphale lay wrapped in the blanket, listening to the wind howling outside. It whined through the tiny gaps in the window, whistling mournfully in the otherwise quiet of the cottage. He counted the minutes, wordlessly praying for Crowley’s safe return. 

Lights dance across the walls. The low rumble of an antique engine nearing. Aziraphale shot up, seeing the Bentley pull to a stop along the little gate. Scrambling from the couch, he rushes out the door. Anathema and Newton hearing the commotion hurried from the kitchen. 

His husband barely clears the old car before Aziraphale falls into his arms, “Crowley!” ‘You came back. You are safe.’ Quickly he pulls back frantically searching for any sign of injury.

‘Fussy, beautiful angel.’ “I’m fine, dove.” he smiles, hugging his family.

Aziraphale breathes him in. Warm spice and leather. “Please don’t ever do that again.” he sighs in relief. 

‘Fuck. I am going to have to come up with something big after this one.’ He leans against the Bentley, preparing for the fallout, “Sorry, dove. Got another date tomorrow.”

“No.” ‘Did they not show?’ “What happened?” 

“Negotiations. I think we may have come to an agreement.” ‘At least I hope.’ Seeing their human audience, he waves his appreciation and goodbye before assisting Aziraphale into the Bentley. 

Once his husband settles in the car, he inquires, “Negotiations? Dearest, this is too much of a risk.” ‘Whatever did you negotiate with that the Prince of Hell would want?’

Crowley turns on the Bentley, “It is too much of a risk not to try. If Bee accepts we are free. Truly free Aziraphale. No more needing to hide.” ‘We aren’t going to get better terms than that.’ He pulls onto the quiet country road. The thought of his angel safe, and their child being able to live without fear is worth any price he must pay. 

“At least allow me to help this time.” Aziraphale pleads. ‘Or at least let me stay in the car.’ 

“Actually…” he smiles guiltily, “there is something I need your help with, but you aren’t going to like it.” ‘At all.’

‘Oh, good Lord.’ “What?” 

‘Here it comes.’ “I am going to need you to get some holy water,” he asks, knowing this is a tall order considering their history.

‘You are absolutely right. I don’t like this.’ “Have you gone completely mad?” Aziraphale shrieks.

“C’mon Aziraphale. You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.” He focuses on the road instead of the angry glare he is currently receiving from his angel, “Look, Beelzebub wants power. We want to be left alone. Bee doesn’t care about our kid. It is better for everyone if Lucifer was out of the picture.”

‘The holy water is for Lucifer? Now I know you are mad.’ “Crowley will that even work? It’s Satan for Heaven’s sake.”

‘Just another Fallen. Should work the same.’ “Yeah, but he isn’t God. Holy water facial and we’ll be rid of him. Won’t have to step foot near Hell. Beelzebub will have the honour all to themselves.” He informs, hoping his angel can see the brilliants of his plan. 

‘At least you won’t be directly handling it.’“Can we trust them?”  
Aziraphale goes to smooth his coat only to realise in his rush from Anathema’s he left it behind. Along with the manuscript. They were still far enough away from their cottage, not jeopardise their home’s location. With a snap, both items appear on the seat next to him. 

Crowley groans, “Can’t say for certain.” ‘They might just as well tell Lucifer.’ “But you can trust me. It’s a handoff. That’s all.”

‘Holy water? Hell? Will this spark a war?’ Aziraphale leans into his husband, who readily accepts him. “I still don’t like this, dearest.”

“Neither do I, dove. But what choice do we have? We have to do this. For them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	26. Return to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven, Hell, and all the kingdoms thereof. (Some good fluff.)

Monday 18 November 2019  
10:56 am  
The Cottage

It was near dawn by the time Aziraphale was finally welcomed by sleep. His dreams, like his waking, were plagued with the horrible possibilities of what his husband might face. True he had managed to come through the forest so to say unscathed this time. But tempting fate, or one's destruction repeatedly, eventually catches all cats short of lives. And at the moment all of Aziraphale’s worst fears haunted him. The vision of Crowley ending the way the little demon did during the farce of a trial had. Being captured and tortured like the memories he shared, forced into Hell services again to make the pain stop. Or forsaking his family in order to survive. And no matter what Crowley said to put his mind at ease, Aziraphale knew he only had himself to blame. 

Several times these terrors were beaten back by a gentle kiss to his brow and kind words. It was all too much. Every part of his essence feared for his partner, his one constant in an eternity of uncertainty. 

Crowley kept vigil over his angel until Aziraphale was resting peacefully. The guilt of subjecting his angel to so much grief and despair tore at his own mind. Worry for his own wellbeing was secondary when his angel was so clearly in pain. To make matters worse, Crowley wasn’t sure The Prince of Hell would grant him a second audience. The talk of salvation clearly upset the Lord of Flies. For all he knew, Beelzebub was already making overtures to Lucifer on ways to exact their revenge. 

His phone provided a much-needed diversion. Since the discovery of his angel’s pregnancy, he was determined to be the best spouse anyone could have. Today was an occasion he had been waiting for, for some time. Slinking off to their kitchen, he busied himself and his mind with preparing a sumptuous meal for his angel. 

A little voice called to him. Though the words were obscured, it rang through the air with familiarity. Aziraphale followed the sound of distant muttering through the house. Their cottage was warm, shining with an unearthly light dancing across his essence. Love, joy, peace, filled all the available space around him. There, just at the nursery, he found the source. Pushing open the door, he saw his husband seated on the edge of a little bed. 

Crowley turned with a smile so filled with happiness, Aziraphale was sure his essence might shatter, “Hey, dove.” A little hand rested in his, thumbs brushing over slight fingers.

Standing stock-still Aziraphale wanted desperately to go to his family, but his feet were unmoving, “Crowley?”

“Sorry, dove.” Crowley smiled all the more. He turned back to the figure obscured by his body, “This little one wanted a lullaby.” Grinning back to his angel, “Don’t worry, I won’t sing anything scary. Isn’t that right Alexandria?” A little giggle was the only answer.

Aziraphale once again tried to approach, and once again, his body didn’t heed his wishes, “My love, I think I might be dreaming.”

The spritely giggle echoes through the room, “Mummy’s silly.” 

Crowley turns away once more, voice low, playfully threatening, “Mum is perfect. And don’t you ever forget it.”

‘I want this. I want to see this. I want this for us.’ Aziraphale felt the tears, even in his dreams. Heart full to bursting. Hope mingling with fear in a complicated rush of emotions. Everything was so uncertain, but one thing would always hold true, “I love you two. So much.” 

Crowley’s attention returned to his angel. Eyes assessing the cause for the tremble of Aziraphale’s voice. “Is everything alright, dove?”

The tiny voice answers, “Mummy is scared, daddy.”

Shifting as if he were about to stand, concern etched in Crowley’s features, “Dove, what is it?”

Aziraphale waves his husband’s anxieties away, “Oh, it’s nothing dearest. A bad dream is all.”

Crowley considered his angel’s words with disbelief. After a moment, his face softens into a reassuring smile, “I’ll be right there.” He turns back to their child, giving them a quick tickle. Their feet kicking, a shrill laugh, as Crowley growled low in his chest, “Just got to get this little imp to sleep.” The sheer glee the two shared wrapped Aziraphale’s essence in an all-encompassing love he had never known. 

Once their little one resettled, they called from behind their father, “Goodnight mummy.”

‘I love you. I will do all I can to make sure your father is safe. That you two will share moments like this.’ “Good night, my darling.” Aziraphale whispers. The door to the nursery closes. Slowly the light of their cottage begins to fade.

Aziraphale wakes with a gasp. Disoriented, he sits up, searching for danger. Eyes frantically taking stock of his surroundings. He is relieved to find himself in the safety of their nest. On closer inspection, he felt his heart sink once again at the realisation that he is very much alone. Fearing he had slept through the day, missing his husband’s departure for his clandestine meeting with the demonic prince, he scrambles from the nest. The light that permeated their bedroom was blinding and only slightly reassured him it was not too late. 

A pleasant scent catches his attention. Cinnamon and vanilla wafting in the air from the kitchen below. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ Dressing in a simple nightgown and his fluffy blue robe Aziraphale descends the stairs. Hands anxiously wringing his whole journey through their cottage. 

He breathed a sigh of relief upon discovering his husband busy at work at their stove. His heart swells with love, his mind, however, tells him that this is just a waking dream. Soon too to vanish, the real world waiting with its unforgiving sting. He takes a shaking breath, forcing the unwelcome thoughts from his head. ‘If this is all we have I will make every moment count.’ Clearing his throat, he makes himself known. His husband turns with a bright smile. 

“Hey, dove!” Crowley looks around the kitchen at the mess he was hoping to have cleared before his angel ever left their nest. “I was...going to do the whole breakfast in bed thing...but since you are here have a seat. It’s almost ready.” he turns back to the task at hand. 

Aziraphale looks to their little breakfast table. On a tray, a bowl of cut fruit and plate of fresh scones sits waiting. A vase of pale yellow primrose placed in one corner. ‘Nor I you, my love.’ Aziraphale can’t help but notice the pastries look as though a certain demon lost their patience with the presentation. He can’t help but smile at the lumpy little haphazard scones. Thankful for the attempt none the less he makes himself comfortable. In a flurry of black and lanky limbs, a pot of tea was brought over with the accompanying accoutrements. 

“Thank you, dearest.” he smiles to his husband who was already hurrying back to the stove.

Aziraphale took the teapot and poured a cup. For once, it wasn’t herbal. Being overly cautious since their child’s discovery, they had avoided even decaffeinated tea. Mostly for the flavourless abomination, it was. Though caffeine was expressly forbidden, he figured a cup or two wouldn’t hurt. He poured an excessive amount of cream to mitigate any adverse side effects. It was delightful, though the warmth of the tea did little to assuage the worries that still clung to his essence. 

In a matter of moments, Crowley was returning, with plate in hand. It was placed before him, his husband taking up the seat just to his left in his normal, sprawling posture. French toast, scrambled eggs, and two rashers of bacon were the presented fare. 

Looking over the veritable feast, Aziraphale asks, “What’s all this?” ‘Some attempt to placate me until tonight? You don’t have to do all this.’

Crowley sees his angel’s sceptical look. ‘I know what this looks like.’ “Well, since you entered phase two of baby baking, I figured we could celebrate."

“Phase two?” Aziraphale asks lost on the meaning.

“Second Trimester.” Crowley smiles. Realising he forgot the berry compote he dashes back to the stove. Returning, he ladles a generous serving of hot fruit on his angel’s eggy bread.

“Thank you, my love,” Aziraphale says still contemplating the need for such ado. “Has it been three months already?” 

“Fourteen weeks today,” Crowley says setting the saucepan on the counter before reclaiming his seat. “Our Alexandria is the size of an orange. And..." he gives his angel a winsome grin, "Probably smiling." ‘Just as beautiful as yours, I’m sure.’

"Really?" Aziraphale looks to his growing belly. ‘So much has happened in these past months. Well, years. What will the next six hold for us?’ 

"At least capable now," Crowley says plucking a bit of pear from the bowl, popping it into his mouth. Pinching another morsel, he offers it to his angel. 'You look tired. When this is over, I am going to take better care of you. The both of you.' "Pear?"

'Pear-shaped. That's a word for our current situation.' Aziraphale accepts the offered fruit. It was a particularly good pear. Sweet with just enough bite to titillate the pallet, but for reasons Aziraphale was all too aware of it held little satisfaction. "This is all so wonderful, my love. Thank you." 

Crowley answers by leaning forward for a quick kiss. His angel's warm lips were reward enough for the calamity that was their kitchen, and his clothes. Black silk was currently smattered with flour and confectioner's sugar, though you couldn't tell them apart.

Aziraphale cut a dainty bite of the toast, conscious to scoop a bit of berry compote. "Brioche?" He asks as it practically melts in his mouth. Tart berries, sweet, delicate brioche, all warm and melding into a decadent food experience.

"Yep. Figured if it was something you liked enough to risk the guillotine over you might enjoy it dipped and fried." Crowley smiles, pleased with himself. 

‘Thoughtful as always. Here I am acting all putout. If the worst should happen, God, please prevent any harm coming to my husband, I have time enough to grieve. I will not have our possible last day together be full of sadness.’ "It is scrumptious, dearest." Aziraphale smiles as prettily as possible. “You are so good to us.”

‘For a smile like that, anything.’ "Glad you like it, dove." Crowley leans in for another quick kiss. 

Aziraphale savours each bite. For as much as it is his husband’s making, as the flavour. Even the uncomely scones are quite delightful. When he had eaten his fill, he insisted on helping Crowley clear the kitchen. Who tried to rebuff the assistance only to be ignored. When finally Aziraphale was drying the last dish, his husband envelopes him in a warm embrace. Chest pressed to his back, long arms snaking around to caress robe covered belly. 

Nuzzling into his angel’s shoulder, “God, I love you.”

Setting the plate on the counter, Aziraphale presses his husband’s hands into his bump, “We love you too, dearest.”

“Six more months little one. Then mummy and I are going to spoil you rotten,” he growls low in his angel’s ear.

"Dearest, do you think Alexandria can hear us?" Aziraphale asks, leaning his head against his husband’s.

"Not for four more weeks. But who knows with our little tyke. Pretty sure I've had dreams about them." he says brushing an errant curl away from his angel’s face. 

"Dreams? Do tell." Aziraphale turns slightly to peer into serpent eyes. His own recent dreams called to mind.

"I dunno.” Crowley shakes his head, “Never really see them, directly. I’ve seen you holding them. Heard them playing." He says looking down, untying the robe. Parting the sides his hand rests once again on their little one.

"I've had similar dreams. One just this morning. Another in the library yesterday."

"Did you see them?" Crowley asks, eyes searching his angel’s. 

"Vaguely. They spoke to me. Yesterday, just before I woke they told me you needed me." Aziraphale says, nestling his head into his husband’s neck. 

‘They spoke to you? Perhaps they can hear us. Hope they know when to ignore certain things.’ "I always need you, dove."

"They seemed worried for you, dearest."

‘Great now, I am worrying our kid.’ Crowley shifts, so his angel is facing him. "Speaking of them. Your next visit with Dr Frances is next week. We might be able to tell if they will be an Alexander or Alexandria."

"Do you have a preference?" he smiles up at his husband.

"No. Just want them however they come. Do you want to know?" Crowley asks with a raised brow. 

"Their gender? No. I don't think I do."

"You don't want to horde frilly dresses? Or start a collection of bow ties?" Crowley teases with a sardonic tone.

"Well, we could get both. Perhaps they will be experimentative." Aziraphale offers, kissing his kind, derisive husband.

"I'm fine with that." he shrugs, taking another quick peck.

Aziraphale slips free, forcing his face to conceal the dread pooling in his stomach, "We have to go to London today?"

"Yeah,” Crowley grumbles, finding the floor fascinating. “Head office. You'll need to wear something that conceals your middle.” ‘Fuck can’t we just be left alone?’ Looking out the kitchen window to avoid letting his angel see his own blooming trepidation, “Never know who's lurking about."

"I should do this alone,” Aziraphale says, taking his husband’s hand. “I wouldn't like you near that much Holy water, dearest."

"Figured.” Crowley agrees, glaring at their joined hands. “Be careful, yeah. Just because you have God's protection doesn't mean we have friends up there."

Stepping closer, Aziraphale cups his husband’s cheek, "No need to worry, dearest. I'll be in and out in a jiffy."

Crowley can only nod. This was his plan, and to make a fuss about his angel going alone was far too hypocritical, even for a demon. They quickly dress and head for London. I Want to Break Free is quickly shut off before they leave the garage.

1:34 pm  
London

Hurrying into Head Office Aziraphale was cautious of any demonic presence besides that of his husband. Luckily, the lobby was empty, and only humans meandered past the entrance. In hand, he carries a five-litre plastic container. Crowley fussed initially about the strain, that amount of weight, would cause his angel. To which he politely reminded his husband it was only half the weight he was allowed to carry. And a simple miracle could mitigate the issue altogether.

Ascending the escalators, Aziraphale has to remind himself that his former tyrannical boss would no longer be there. And he was, in fact, an Archangel who answered only to God Herself. A great honour formerly only the Metatron and Seraphim could boast. This, however, did nothing to dissuade his corporal heart from racing. 

He knew the way, venturing there a mere fifty two years ago. Yet he dreaded every step. It was a risk he would rather not have to expose his husband too, again. Just like then his own guilt and anxiety plagued him. ‘This is our child. Crowley will be careful, and we can be free. A handoff. Crowley assured it is just a handoff. Watch over us.’

Just then a familiar kind face halted his progress. “Chamael. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Archangel Aziraphale. How are we this afternoon?” Smiled the benevolent Archangel.

“I am well, thank you.” Aziraphale smiles politely. 

“You seem to be in a hurry. Might I walk with you?” Chamael asks with a bow, stepping aside. Large brown eyes marking the plastic container. 

“If you like.” Aziraphale concedes continuing towards his target. 

“I assume the object in your hand is to procure Holy water?” Chamael inquires keeping stride with his fellow Archangel.

“Yes.” he laughs uncomfortably. “For insurance.” 

“Insurance?” The tone of Chamael’s voice was slightly dubious. “You have Heaven’s protection.” 

“My husband is a demon. His former side doesn’t play by Heaven’s rules,” Aziraphale snips a bit too curtly.

“Your husband. He is immune, is he not? How does a demon become immune to Holy water? It is very concerning.” The Archangel keeps his gaze forward, but Aziraphale notices the subtle furrow to pleasant features.

“He has never been a good demon. Perhaps it is our bond that makes it so.” Aziraphale offers, wanting to be rid of his nosy companion. 

“Perhaps.” They finally arrive at Aziraphale’s destination. Two large white doors as stark as the rest of Heaven. Chamael turns, placing his hand on Aziraphale’s that holds the container, “I caution you Aziraphale. Some conflicts are won by the sword. Others are won without either side raising a hand. It may be difficult, and it may be fleeting, but peace should always be our first solution.”

Moving his hand to the door, Aziraphale smiles uncomfortably, “We are in agreement, Chamael. I wish harm on no being above, below, or anything in between.” 

“I am glad of it. I will leave you to gather your...insurance.” Bowing with all the grace and elegance of a courtier Chamael turns and leaves.

Pushing open the doors, Azirphale enters the room. Before him is a spring welling up from the floor. Clear aqua blue waters gently ripple as the current rushes for the surface. A small crystal amphora waits just near the edge. Removing the cap and setting his container down, Aziraphale takes up the oddly shaped beautiful vessel. 

He works carefully so as not to spill. It takes several trips to fill the larger, less aesthetically pleasing receptacle. As he is finishing, about to place the amphora back on its stand, his privacy is disturbed. A Seraph enters, all fire and divine glory. Aziraphale recognises them from Gabriel's trial. 

"Archangel Aziraphale." Their voice greets in a sweet melodic tone.

He stands, adjusting his cream coat, "Hello… I'm sorry, I do not know your name."

"Seraphiel." They announce excitedly.

"It is a pleasure Seraphiel." He picks up the now filled container. Noticing the Seraph isn't moving, and expectantly watching him, he asks, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Please, call me Sera." She asks sheepishly. "Your husband always use to." Gesturing and rolling her eyes at her own forgetfulness, "Before."

"Very well, Sera." Aziraphale politely smiles.

Sorrow suffuses her fiery beauty, "How is he?"

"He's well. I will let him know you asked." He walks past the radiant Seraph.

"Is he…happy?" Sera asks apprehensively.

Aziraphale stops just at the door, turning to Sera. 'I hope he is.' "I believe so. He is very excited about our child."

Orbs of dancing flames wander down Aziraphale, stopping on his bump, which is mostly obscured beneath loose layers of clothing. "Congratulations. You two are very blessed."

"Thank you." Something in the way she looked at him made Aziraphale wonder how close the two were. Crowley had never mentioned the other Seraphim. Then again he had only recently revealed he had been a Seraph. There was a longing in her fiery eyes. A deep sadness that spoke of more than mere acquaintances. "Sera, what was he like? Before the Fall?"

Sera brightened noticeably at the question. Everything about her seemed to burn brighter. "Samael?" She smiles, thinking on the memory. "He was… kind, most would agree." Her face turned gloomy as another memory replaced the other, "Though he and Lucifer were forever at odds. The manky wretch always took himself far too seriously. Thought because he was the firstborn he had the right of everything. See where that got him." Sera frowned, gaze distant as if seeing a moment since past, alive once more. "Samael was different in every way. He was funny. Found everything amusing. Even tormenting Lucifer." With a nervous smile, her eyes shift to Aziraphale. "All in good fun, of course." 

Aziraphale nods his understanding. He knew well that even if Crowley loved you, it didn't spare you from his sharp tongue from time to time. 

Once again, her mind turns towards the past. "Nobody could make the Almighty laugh like him. He was so mischievous. He would pull silly pranks on the others. The whole dinosaur thing, completely his idea. And the platypus. He and I had the best time throwing together little bits of already approved animals. When we were done, he took the design down to the angels working on mammals and told them it was specifically commanded from the Almighty." She grins at Aziraphale. "He was a Seraphim, nobody questioned it. Never knew what he'd get up to next. I think that is what She liked most about him. Endless imagination, curious about everything, and a good heart. Not always the brightest but his persistence made up for it.” Remembering herself, her expression turns to embarrassment. “Oh, listen to me go on. I am sure you have better things to do.”

If Aziraphale were being wholly honest with himself, which he wasn't, he would admit to a degree of jealousy. 'I wish I had met him then.' “No, it is very fascinating. Forgive me for asking, but you sound as though you loved him a great deal.”

Taken aback by the question, Sera looks away. After a moment she answers, “He was my brother. I miss him.”

'Brother.' Aziraphale felt a tension release from him he wasn't aware he was carrying. The pitiable expression on the Seraph's face made him wish he had brought his husband along. An idea struck him, “Sera would you like to visit us? On Earth?”

Sera blinks at him in alarm, “I’ve never been to Earth.”

Aziraphale offers her his elbow. She takes it, and they begin to walk towards the exit. “Well, it can be a bit overwhelming at first. But you get used to it. You could stay with us. We have more than enough room." He offers with more zeal as the plan begins to solidify. Checking to see if his new friend is in agreement, he identifies one glaring problem. "You might have to do something about all the uh...fire. Something more human to blend in.”

She stops, releasing Aziraphale's arm. Again she is consumed with anguish. “I...I don’t think Samael would like that.”

'He may be a demon, but he isn't a monster.' “Why ever not? He’s never said anything unkind about you.” he tries to reassure.

“How much has he actually said about me?” she asks with a knowing scowl.

“Well, you may have a point.”

“It’s my fault. He wanted my help with Lucifer. Always playing the hero, even if you didn’t want the help. I told him to leave Lucifer to God’s judgement. I turned my back on them. On him." She seems to shrink on every word. "I didn’t even know he had Fallen until after the war. I never even asked Her why he was cast out.”

'You poor, dear.' “That is in the past Sera. If you like, I will speak with him." Aziraphale reclaims her arm and begins to walk again. Leaning in so only his morose new companion could hear, "I have my ways of getting what I want.”

Hope flits in her eyes, “Aziraphale, tell him I’m sorry. I would like to visit. If he wouldn’t mind.” 

They reach the escalator. Aziraphale smirks a delighted smile to Sera, “I suspect we will see each other very soon.”

She gives him an appreciative look. "I hope we will Aziraphale."

They separate, reluctantly on the Seraph's part. He can feel her burning gaze as the escalator carries him to the ground level. With a new purpose, of a more happy nature, he all but glides back to the Bentley.

Quickly he tucks the container of Holy water securely in the boot of the car. Once back in his usual seat, he beams at his husband.

'What in the seven spheres of Hell has got you in such a good mood? Last time we did this, you avoided me for years.' “How’d it go?” he asks, starting the Bentley.

“It went well." He informs primly, "Sera asked about you.”

Crowley glares at the road ahead, “What did she want?”

“She…" Aziraphale begins, taking his husband's ringed hand, "asked me to tell you she was sorry.”

“Sorry? What the Hell is she sorry for?” Setting his jaw, he speeds through London. 

“She believes you are angry with her. She feels like she turned her back on you. Darling, please do slow down. I would hate to have the holy water spill." He scolds.

Crowley does slow, though his grip tightens on the wheel, “Smartest thing she ever did.” 'She would have just ended up like me.'

'Well, this just got a lot easier.' “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I invite her for dinner?”

Crowley gawked at his angel. “You want Sera to come to our cottage? A Seraph?” 'We may not have neighbours, but someone is definitely going to notice a burning woman walking about.'

'That wasn't a no.' Aziraphale smiles, bringing his husband's hand to his lap. Pouting, he continues, “I figured it would allow you two to reconnect. She misses you.”

'There it is. I don't really get a say in this, do I? I've changed.' “I just…” his own memories race through his mind. 'She always looked up to me. Not much to look up to now.' “I don’t like her seeing me...like this.” 'the trial was enough.'

'I may not know what you were like before, my love. But you are far from grotesque.' “Really, I don’t think that matters to her. You should have heard how she talked about you.”

“Always the tag along.” A smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “You know dinosaur bones, completely her idea.”

Aziraphale turned his head to hide his own smirk, “Funny. She pinned that on you.”

“Nope. Not me.” Crowley said far too quickly to be convincing.

'Dearest?' Cocking an eyebrow, “She also informed me you are responsible for the platypus.” 

“Whot?" He barks. "That was a secret.” 'Little tattletale. See if I ever let you play sidekick ever again.'

Straightening his cream coat, “Well if all goes to plan tonight, I am inviting her for Christmas.”

“Christmas?" 'I really hate Christmas. Who knew making a religious holiday a greed inducing nightmare would be such a… shit.' "You know that wasn’t even his birthday.”

“Yes, I am aware." 'Does it matter?' "Yule, Saturnalia, call it what you like. I think it will be lovely. We will have to invite Anathema and Newton as well. Ysabel, if she will accept. Perhaps our next lesson with Violette she can teach us how to make a proper Christmas dinner.” he says grinning to himself. 

“Why not invite Shadwell and his harlot while you are at it?” Crowley groused. The thought of having humans, free to roam around their home wasn't his idea of a happy Christmas. 

“Retired harlot, dearest. And I think I will. I wonder if Adam and his friends would like an invitation as well?” 

Unconsciously Crowley begins to speed up. Darting around other motorists, contemplating the fuss his angel would pour into the event. “I can’t believe this. Christmas? You know they will probably want to spend time with their own families.”

Aziraphale pretends not to notice his husband's growing agitation. “They can always decline.”

“Can I decline?” he asks, cutting his angel a stern glare from behind dark glasses.

'Check.' “Are you bringing me along tonight?”

“Absolutely not.” 'Damn it.'

'Mate.' “Well, then, you have your answer.” Aziraphale settles more in the seat, proud of his manoeuvring. "Really, dearest. Do slow down."

“I married a complete bastard,” Crowley grumbles. 'A beautiful, vexing bastard.'

“I love you too, dearest.”

6:15 pm  
The Cottage

Crowley might put on a show for the sake of his ego, but there was a large part that felt the same as his angel. They were part of this world, so too would be their child. He'd always enjoyed the smiling faces and excited squeals of joy around this time of year. The adults as always muck everything up, but kids lived in the magic of belief. The awe of twinkling lights, trees dressed in all manner of bobbles and homemade crafts, snow blanketing the world, the subsequent snowball fights, cocoa by the fire while parents tell stories of times gone by, the delight in the impossible being possible, if only for one special time of year.

Now that he was about to be a father himself, the miserably cold season did have a new appeal. Perhaps it was a silly human custom, but he wanted to see their child's face light up on Christmas morning. He might even be coursed into a bit of holiday cheer himself. With the right motivation, of course. 

Right now, however, reality weighed heavy between them. His angel had managed to maintain a brave face most of the day. But as the sun began to dip below the horizon, the pretence was fading with the light. 

Crowley prepared a roast; his angel was able to consume this time. Though Aziraphale thanked him, his angel was currently blankly staring at the plate. Fork idly poking at a piece of potato. "Dove, if you want something else…"

Aziraphale was startled out of his grim line of thought, "No, dearest. It's delicious." What he had tried of it was in fact astoundingly good. The idea that this was yet again possibly their last moments together. The last meal they would ever share turned his corporation's stomach against him. "I am just a bit sickly it seems."

“Sickly?” ‘You don't have to pretend for my benefit.’ "I could get you something."

"No, thank you, my love." Aziraphale set his fork down. Dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "I don't think it would help." 'I'm sorry.' He couldn't look at his husband. His determination to not cry was quickly failing. Wanting desperately to pin Crowley to their nest and never let him out of his sight again, he could only sit there and wait for him to leave.

The tremble of his angel's lip said what Aziraphale was avoiding. Crowley knelt beside his angel, thumb caressing the little snake coiled around Aziraphale's finger. "Talk to me, dove." 

'Talk to you? I want to protect you. Stand at your side, defend you from all dangers. I want to fight the powers of Hell until they are defeated or too scared to move against us.' "I don't know what there is to say." 'That will make a difference.'

"Say whatever you like. I'll listen." Crowley pleads trying to meet his angel's eyes.

Aziraphale takes his husband's hand. Studying the lines of his palm. Fingers tracing each as if trying to divine the future. "I love you." He whispers as if said any louder and he would shatter into a million pieces. "I am terrified." Lacing their fingers together, he brings Crowley's hands to his lips. "I wish you would let me go with you. At least sit in the car until you return. So I will know the instant you are safe."

Crowley tightened his grip on his angel's delicate hand, "Dove, please understand." 

"I do understand, Crowley." Aziraphale turns away once more. Eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It doesn't make this easier."

'Fix this.' "I could take you to Anathema's. You and Ysabel could go over Agnes's stuff."

"No." he huffs. Voice straining to remain composed. "I told you I want to remain here." 

Massaging slow circles into his angel's thigh "Aziraphale I don't want to do this anymore than you want me to. We don't have much of a choice."

'Because I made it so.' "I know that. I...I just…" 'here you are comforting me, when I should be caring for you. Making sure you know how much I love you.'

"Just what, dove?" 

"Since the pregnancy began I feel...useless. Like I've left you to be strong for the both of us.” He turns back to Crowley, gripping his upper arm. “And I know said you believe I am not to blame for our current situation, but I am. I should be the one to fix this.” 

"Dove, you aren't useless. And you aren’t any more to blame for this than me. If I hadn’t Fallen, Hell would look at our child as some weird angelic happening and nothing more.” Crowley rises back to his seat, claiming both of Aziraphale’s hands. “I like that you have allowed me to take care of you. You take care of me as well. I love what we have. Aside from Lucifer and Gabriel's bullshit. And that is going to be dealt with tonight."

"You shouldn't have to do it alone." Aziraphale whimpers.

Crowley shrugs trying to defuse the tense conversation with a bit of levity, "I haven't. Who got the holy water?"

"One thing. You are taking all the risk."

"You want risk?” he grins. Waving his arm dramatically, “I'll take you for a ride. One hundred miles per hour all the way to Tadfield." 

"Crowley please don't joke."

His shoulders slump in defeat, "I don't know what to do to make this better."

Realising how his gloomy disposition is effecting his husband he places his hand on Crowley’s cheek. Closing his eyes, he takes a composing breath, "Dearest, there is nothing you can do.” ‘Pull yourself together, Aziraphale. He needs me to buck up and be strong. It isn’t going to help him tonight worrying about what a mess I am.’ “I don't mean to be so melancholy, but I am terrified for you. It can’t be helped. I love you and will always worry about your safety. I will be alright, my love. We both will." Aziraphale leans in kissing his husband. Aziraphale’s essence presses into the kiss as well. Singing his love and devotion to his mate. Crowley responds in kind echoing the song. When they part Aziraphale rests his forehead to his husband’s. 

Crowley seizes his angel and draws Aziraphale onto his lap. Burrowing his face into soft curls, he breathes in the familiar, comforting scent. ‘This will get easier. Once this is done, we will put this all behind us. No more running, no more hiding.’ "Dove, can you do something for me?"

Adjusting so he can look into golden eyes, he cups his husband’s face, "Anything, my love." He seals their mouths in a kiss. 

Crowley deepens the kiss almost upon contact. Tongues meeting, passion and love crashing into him as they press closer together. Fingers tangle in his hair, tightening with just enough to cause an appreciative moan to escape him. ‘It is just a handoff. And when I get back, I have this waiting for me. God, I love you, Aziraphale.’ Crowley forces himself to sit back, breaking the kiss. "I am going to tidy up down here. I want you to head upstairs and pop in our nest. Will you do that for me, dove?" He asks eyes closed, trying to regain control. His effort straining against their leather confines.

"I will." Aziraphale gives his husband a quick encouraging peck before standing. Doing as requested, he promptly heads upstairs. With a little of his own initiative, he undresses as he goes. Hoping his husband would appreciate the lack of any barriers needing removal. Lights dime, he lays amongst the bedding. The cool air of their bedroom causing goosebumps to rise across his pale skin. 

Crowley makes quick work of clearing the kitchen. Pulses of desire filtering into his essence from above, fueling the fires his own need. When he finally reaches their bedroom, those flames roar into a raging inferno.

His perfect angel lays bare before him. Legs drawn up, concealing Aziraphale's effort. Hand reaching out pleading for him to join his angel. 

Taking snakehead belt in hand, he keeps eye contact as he hurries to shed his clothing. He draws his shirt over his head, leather pants and briefs hastily pushed down. Taking his angel's hand, he climbs into their nest.

Aziraphale pushes up, claiming his husband's mouth. He can feel Crowley attempting to press him down into their nest. Placing his free hand on his husband's strong chest, "wait." Crowley's eyes questioning at the halting word. "Will you let me?"

"F'course, dove." Crowley lays back into the nest.

Aziraphale straddles his husband's narrow hips. Crowley takes his arousal in hand brushing against already slick folds. When Aziraphale feels the velvety head press at his entrance, he pushes down. Seating himself fully, both moaning in unison as Crowley is sheathed deep within his warmth.

The stretch causes Aziraphale to bite his lower lip. He rests his hands on his husband’s stomach for support as he rises up. Then sliding back down. Aziraphale sets a steady pace. Hips rolling, feeling his husband fill him, grazing against that wondrous spot. Head falling back as he loses himself in ecstasy. Their moans echoing each other as Aziraphale drives them towards the summit. 

Crowley grips his angel’s lush hips, thrusting up as they converge. The waves of pleasure crashing into him are maddening. He slides his hands up his angel’s sides. Stopping at Aziraphale’s breasts, worrying at each perk bud. One of his hands is seized and brought to his angel’s mouth. Teeth grazing the pad of his palm. He tries to rise up to kiss his angel, only to be forced back down.

Aziraphale quickens the pace, each downward slide harder than the last. Soft moans give way to panting gasps. Crowley groaning behind grit teeth. Eyes shut tight, head pressing back into the nest. "You better come back to me." Aziraphale keens, his pace unrelenting. 

"I will." Crowley struggles to respond. 

Aziraphale forces himself to look down on his husband. "Don't you dare leave me in this world without you."

"Never," Crowley growls, flipping them, pushing Aziraphale’s legs up towards his angel’s chest. He thrusts in with everything he has. He locks their mouths together. Tongues tasting, teeth nipping at his angel’s swollen bottom lip. His angel wailing as their climaxes near. Crowley bows taking Aziraphale’s breast into his mouth. Hands fisting in his hair as he laps and sucks at the nipple. His thrusts demanding. He can feel his angel teetering on the edge of release. Licking his way up to the spot just above his angel’s heart, he asks, “Will you keep this for me, dove?”

Aziraphale answers by forcing Crowley’s mouth down. As his husband’s teeth sink in, he comes undone. He cries out, body convulsing, clenching around his husband’s effort. Crowley’s own release moments behind. Heaving breaths against Aziraphale’s neck as he spills deep inside him. 

Neither of them wanting to separate they lay there, joined, cleaving to each other. When at last Crowley can no longer ignore the time he slides free. He looks down on his angel, radiant in the afterglow, "Be here, just like this when I come back. Alright, dove?"

"As long as it takes." Aziraphale smiles up at his husband. 

10:00 pm  
Mayfair

The air in Crowley’s flat was every bit as cold as the streets of London. Made somehow colder by the harsh lines of the concrete walls. It at least made his need for gloves convincing as an attempt to keep warm, instead of a protective barrier. The plain plastic container sat in the centre of the room. Crowley intentionally stood near to the one thing that could erase his being from existence. To do otherwise may alert his former boss that not all in the trial was as it seemed. 

Like the previous night, The Lord of Flies was punctual and alone. They stood in the entrance to the study seeming irritable as ever. Looking from first the jug on the floor then to Crowley they fold their arms over their chest, "You have it, then?"

Gesturing dramatically to the liquid weapon of demonic destruction, "Right here, your Lordship." Crowley infuses each word with the perfect measure of indifferent mockery he could.

Unmoving Beelzebub glares at the plastic container, "How do I know it'zzz real?" 

Crowley shrugs with a sneer, "Get Hastur to test it for you." ‘You fucking think I would have my arse in this cold flat just to see your putrid husk?’ "So we have a deal?" Crowley takes up the container, sauntering over to the Prince. Holding it to their eye level as casually as he could possibly force himself to do. 

Beelzebub recoils away. Eye momentarily filled with fear Crowley had never seen before. Remembering their station, they tug harshly at their tattered coat and reclaim their usual impatient countenance, "If thizzz izzz some trick I'll come for you myself."

Crowley thrusts the jug at them once more, just to see them flinch again. He grumbles, "Listen, I have an angel to get back to. Do we have a deal or not?"

Beelzebub takes the holy water tentatively. When they don’t spontaneously melt into a puddle of goo they relax, only slightly. They stared at the lethal element as if it held some great secret, "If I am succezzzful, no demon will come near you."

"Or my angel." Crowley stepped back, casually, thrusting his hands in his pockets.

They let the container hang at their side, cutting Crowley an annoyed glare. "Or your angel.” A wicked grin replaced their sour expression, “Or your welp." Crowley tried, but he couldn’t help the rigid shift in his posture. The Prince seemed pleased with the reaction. "Don't look so surprised. Gabriel izzzn't smart enough to come up with something like that.” They rolled their eyes, looking into the distance with disdain, “I can't wait to be rid of him and that fucking bird."

"Bird?" Crowley asks lost on the Prince’s meaning.

They snap with a sneer, "Hizzz familiar. Fucking moulting peacock. Never shutzzz up."

‘Peacock? God, sometimes I really appreciate your sense of humour.’ Crowley bursts into a cackling laugh. "Oh, that's great. I'm going to have to tell Aziraphale."

"You have a loud gazzzbag, and his even louder ratty oversizzzzed pigeon squawking in your face all day and tell me how funny you think it izzz." Beelzebub snaps again. The scowl they afford Crowley warns him he better watch himself.

Crowley can’s help but smile from ear to ear. Knowing Gabriel has one of the most obnoxious birds tethered to him for eternity, or until Beelzebub snuffs him from existence, was enough to make any amount of danger worth the trouble. "I'll pass. Well, guess this is goodbye then." He says confidently. The Lord of Flies turns to leave. Crowley calls out, "One more thing. Lemme know when it's done, will you."

They stop and turn, "Throwing a celebrazzzion for the occazzzion?"

"Nope. Just want to know when I don't have to look over my shoulder anymore." Crowley looks away as if bored with the conversation.

"Fine." They say heading for the door.

Crowley couldn’t resist being a nuisance one last time. "Thanks, Bee." 

"Fuck off Crowley." They shout before the door can close behind them.

All worries follow the princely demon out of the flat. Crowley huffs a relieved laugh. If he thought about it hard enough, he would come to the conclusion that he had hallucinated the whole thing. Here he stood in his empty flat having just handed The Prince of Hell the ultimate weapon to destroy Lucifer The Angel of Darkness. And the best part of it was he was still alive. 

All thoughts turned to his angel, to his family. He was out of the flat in a flash, tearing down the stairs two at a time, needing an outlet for the sudden rush of energy. He was in the Bentley speeding through London towards their home. Queen’s The Hero thundering from the speakers.

11:48 pm  
The Cottage

The night dragged on. Aziraphale held to his promise. He had considered going down to their library and selecting a book to keep his mind occupied. Then decided against it. Literature would most likely only be able to distract him for a few moments at best. So he waited, wrapped in the tartan blanket they had shared since their bonding. 

Six thousand years of knowing his demon played through his mind. So many long years of wanting precisely what they had now, aside from the threat Hell once again posed. Even though thoughts of children never crossed his mind, they were both incandescently happy for it. Aziraphale could only hope for another six millennia of his husband by his side. 

Aziraphale sat up, opening the blanket to expose his belly. He caresses the little swell, wishing it were Crowley doing so. “I know your father said you probably couldn’t hear me. If it’s all the same to you, I would very much like to tell you about your wonderful father.” 

And that is what he did. Aziraphale told their little one how they met atop the walls of Eden. Of his husband abysmal chat up line about the balloon that he wouldn’t understand for thousands of years. He fell into the story with ease, losing sense of everything beyond his memories. Careful to skip over the more abhorrent parts. He saw so lost to the world be didn’t notice the figure standing at the door. 

Crowley listened intently as his angel recounted their history. The scene before his was so adorable he dared not interrupt. Aziraphale could scold him later for not letting his angel know the second he arrived home.

"And then your father popped in,” Aziraphale said, smiling down on his bump. Hands smoothing over his skin as if their child could feel his touch. “He was ever so handsome. Stopped that nasty man from cut… well from being a bad man.” Looking out their large bedroom window, he drifted back into that day. “We went to lunch. Mummy was very happy to see your father. We had crepes and champagne. Well, I had crepes. Your father isn’t big on food.” Aziraphale perks up, “Oh, I wonder if Violette knows how to make crepes. We will have to ask, won't we?” he gives his belly a little pat, “It will be a while before you can try them. Where was I? Ah yes. We talked for hours. He's charming your father. Wonderfully brilliant. And when it came time for us to part, I almost asked him to stay.” Tears fell from his eyes, remembering each good-bye. “I told you I loved your father for a very long time. It was always hard watching him leave. But he always came back. Even when mummy wasn't kind to him, he came back." 

"And I always will." he cuts in. Grinning a slyly.

Aziraphale turns, face white as if his husband were a ghost. "Crowley." He breathes.

Crowley decides to leave the theatrics for later. He goes to his family, wrapping his arms around his angel, "Its done, dove."

Aziraphale clings to him. Melting into the embrace. ‘Thank you, Lord.’ "Are we safe now?"

Crowley shifts back pressing a lingering kiss to his angel’s lips. Brushing the tousled ringlets away from divine features. Once he feels Aziraphale relax, he reluctantly pulls away. "Well, Bee will keep their end of the deal. We just have to hope they are successful."

"And then?" Aziraphale asks, staring into golden eyes.

"No more Hell.” he smiles warmly. “Beelzebub knew about our kid. Promised they would be safe as well." ‘Even in Hell, a deal is a deal.’

Aziraphale snuggles into his husband once more, "I'm glad it's over."

Crowley kicks off his boots and lays down. Pulling Aziraphale down, so his angel is resting on his shoulder. “So am I, dove.” he kisses the crown of pale curls.

“I love you, dearest,” Aziraphale says, pressing as close as possible.

“I love you too, dove.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	27. I'm Still Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR! 
> 
> Fluff, a bit of angst (but only momentary), morning smut, and invites go out. (Fairly explicit description of medical procedure.)

Wednesday 27 November 2019  
6:24 am  
The Cottage

It had been more than a week since Crowley’s clandestine visit with the Prince. They had heard nothing of Hell, nor seen anything of its agents. He wasn’t sure whether to be at ease or on edge over the silence. One thing he was certain of The Lord of All Sin would not go quietly into the night. If Lucifer met his end the entirety of existence was sure to know. As Beelzebub had yet to contact them of either outcome, he was sure in the marrow of his corporation that his former choir mate still lived.

Yet, right now those worries were miles away in his mind. Feather-light fingers were tracing the line of his jaw up to his lips. His angel’s touch a ghost, brushing gently from lips to prominent cheekbone, over his eyes, brow, down his sharp nose, and along the line of his neck. He remains unmoving, trying to appear as deep in sleep, as he was when he first felt the tender caress. Fingers gliding over his collarbone, sensual in its innocent affection.

There were no pulses of desire. Just a warmth that permeates his essence with boundless love and admiration. He was happy to bask in that warmth for as long as his angel shone down upon him. The weight of Aziraphale's gaze was as tangible as the touch ethereal.

Laying silent, Aziraphale's breathing is almost imperceptible, fearing he may disturb his husband’s sleep. Crowley’s nakedness bare before him. Lean lines and angular features too tempting not to appreciate. The tips of his fingers marvelling at the subtle swell of muscle beneath taut skin. He trails down his husband’s chest to his stomach, over defined adonis belt. 'Sometimes I can't believe all this is real. That we are married. Having a child. Do you feel the same? Do you know how much you are loved?'

Upon seeing his husband’s arousal beginning to respond to his touch he withdraws. He may be of a mind for such early morning exertions, but it felt wrong pressing the matter on his sleeping husband. Instead, he rests his cheek on Crowley’s exquisite form, hand over his heart feeling the steady pulse of his mate. Content with gazing worshipfully over the object of his love and desire.

Crowley in response to the sudden loss of his angel’s study groans, "I was enjoying that."

Turning in alarm, Aziraphale is met by golden eyes sleepily staring down on him, "Sorry dearest, did I wake you?" 'Stupid question. Of course, I did.' Cheeks flush bright red at the realization Crowley had probably been aware the whole time.

'You are so beautiful when you blush.' Chuckling, he pulls his angel closer into his side, "If I go back t’sleep will you continue?"

"I'll do so for the asking." Aziraphale beams brightly up at his husband. Relief cooling the embarrassment of his discovery.

They both settle down into the nest. Crowley rubbing small circles into his angel’s supple back. Eyes closed, lying in wait for whatever his angel wishes of him. Instead of overthinking, as he often does, he gives over all thought to the simple pleasure of being loved.

Aziraphale moves his hand to his husband’s arm, which lays limp amongst the bedding. Tracing the slender curve to Crowley's bicep. It wasn't the most impressive expression of the masculine form, but it was perfectly his husband. Which to that measure was worth all adoration and worship Aziraphale has within him to bestow.

Focusing his touch as light as before, he skims over a broad shoulder, to firm chest, intentionally brushing over Crowley’s nipple, before sliding over and down his side. Aziraphale sees the muscles of his husband’s stomach draw tight as his fingers caress over Crowley’s thigh. Though his husband requested this delicate touch, everything inside Aziraphale wished to replace the tips of his fingers with his lips.

Instead, he trails back to his husband's beautiful features. Paying reverent attention to flushed bottom lip. "You are so glorious, my love."

Crowley smiles, still relishing the soft fingers tracing the corner of his mouth. "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid blind."

Aziraphale pouts at, the possibly not, borrowed words, "I am far from blind, dearest." He chides. Taking a single red curl in hand, he twirls it around his finger, studying each strand. Crimson and copper mingling to create an unparalleled hue. "Merely an observer who speaks in earnest."

Opening his eyes once more he brushes sleep mussed ringlets from his angel's face. Deep azure pools overflowing with love. 'I hope you never stop looking at me like that.' "Thy beauty cause the heavens to grow envious in its sight. Stars rendered diminished in its light. Radiant love, you who's grace is beyond praise, shine in mine heart through all our endless days." Crowley rises up pressing their lips together. His angel's mouth eagerly accepting and returning his passion.

In the years before Crowley dreamed of moments like this. Lying in bed together, knowing each other openly without fear of discovery. Having his angel as desperate for him as he had always been. Loving freely, unquestioningly, knowing he was loved in equal measure. This, if for no other reason, would he always have admiration for Her.

When at last they part Aziraphale smiles, “I don't believe that was Shakespear's, my love.” his hand once again journeying down his husband's body.

Crowley relaxes for his angel, his own fingers combing lazily through pale hair. “I know. True all the same,” he smirks.

Aziraphale's mind stares into their past. Stolen moments far too fleeting to mean much to most. Yet, for them more precious than a world full of possessions one could own. Now every second was theirs. "My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite." He brushes a chaste kiss over Crowley's chest. Fingers tracing the furrow between defined ribs.

Aziraphale's eyes are drawn to Crowley's arousal. It was very apparent just how much his husband was enjoying his attention. Yet he refrains, for the moment. Satisfied to indulge in every measure of flesh still unexplored.

Crowley takes his angel’s chin between his fingers, serpent eyes intently gazing into blue, "I love you, dove. With all that I am."

Aziraphale beams at his husband's admission. "I have no doubt, my love. You make me impossibly happy."

'God, your smile.' "It's all I ever wanted." He says caressing his angel's cheek.

"All?" Aziraphale smiles, turning to kiss his husband's palm. Drawing the tips of his fingers over his husband's length.

"Dove." Crowley shudders under the delicate touch.

He watches his husband expression draw up, head falling back into their nest, "Do you want me to stop dearest?"

Crowley shuts his eyes, groaning "No...No don't stop." ‘I am yours. Do with me as you like.’

Aziraphale caresses the velvety head, circling several times around the tiny slit, before gliding back down the shaft. Still feather-light, a whisper of a touch and nothing more. Watching every subtle twitch of his husband’s countenance.

As Aziraphale reaches the tip once more Crowley moans. His own aching need fueled with no sign of quenching. "Aziraphale please." 'I need more. I need you.'

‘How the tables turn.’ "Please what, my love?" He asks, taking his husband's perk nipple into the warmth of his mouth. Earning him a huffing gasp. He flicks the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, swirling, then flicking again.

"You're teasing," He groans, eyes clamped shut, brows furrowed.

Teeth graze his husband's nipple as he pulls away. "Well, we can't have that now can we?" Aziraphale smiles deviously, taking Crowley in hand. The spending, that already beads at the head, eases the slide as he slowly works his husband's effort. His ministrations unhurried, drawing out every moment of pleasure to its fullest. Pulsing several times on the head before twisting down. Until Crowley is heaving, teeth clenching, hand fisted near painfully in his pale hair.

It was maddening, everything screaming inside him as he is slowly coaxed towards release. "For the love of God, dove." He growls. 'You are enjoying this you bastard.'

"What is the matter, dearest? Aziraphale asks, resting his chin on his husband's chest, revelling in his desperate expression.

"More… please more." Crowley begs for release. 'Anything. Do whatever you want. Just let me come.'

"Some things dearest." Aziraphale slowly shifts down, kissing from his husband's chest to below his navel. "Are best when savoured." He takes the tip of Crowley’s aching arousal in his mouth. Providing one languid suck, before drawing back, lips pulling off with a kiss. His tongue lapping one quick stripe over the sensitive slit.

Crowley moans helplessly as his angel continues the leisurely place. His whole body trembling as his climax draws agonizingly near. "Dove. Dove please I'm so close." He begs, helpless under Aziraphale's controlled attentions.

"Always in such a rush, my beautiful husband." Aziraphale smiles, working his hand scarcely faster.

Crowley arches into the fiction, his pinnacle moments away. Suddenly, his whole length is plunged deep within his angel's welcoming mouth. Serpent eyes fly open in surprise. The warm slick slide down Aziraphale's throat drags him in a strangled groan over the edge. He spills into his angel in throbbing pulses.

Aziraphale smiles to himself. His husband is panting, desperate grasping breaths, eyes locked on their ceiling. Every sinewy muscle tensing and releasing with each wave of climax. The look of utter disbelief written on his face. 'You're welcome, dearest.' Aziraphale withdraws, settling down, resting his head on his husband's stomach. "Are you alright, my love?" he asks coyly.

"Yup." Crowley nods, eye blown wide, still fixed on a single point on the ceiling. Licking his lips he tries to slow his rapid breathing. Every nerve ending in his body ringing with satisfaction. "M'great." 'You are fucking amazing.' "That was…"

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, dearest." Aziraphale kisses just above his husband's navel. Proud of being the cause of Crowley's current state.

Crowley looks to his angel, who is smiling sweetly up at him. Nearly glowing in the early morning rays. Large cerulean eyes twinkling in delight. 'How can something so adorable be so damned scintillating?'

A renewed burst of desire springs him into action. He is shifting, lunging at his angel in a sudden surprise attack. "I'm not done with you yet, dove." He growls playfully pushing his angel to their nest. A sudden cry of pain halts him.

Aziraphale’s hand goes to the juncture of his hip. An acute pain, sharp and biting deep within his abdomen steals his breath. He grips his husband's hand, curling in on himself, groaning into the nest. A gentle hand pushes curls away from his face, providing a focus beyond the pain.

“S’wrong, dove?” Crowley pleads, searching his angel for any sign of injury. Fearing his forceful tumble may have inadvertently harmed their child. "Please talk to me. I didn't mean to hurt you." 'Fucking idiot. Careful, I have to be more careful. Please let them be alright.'

“I'm alright, dearest." Aziraphale lies to calm his frantic husband. Forcing open eyes he didn't remember closing. He attempts a smile. "Rather uncomfortable spasm," Aziraphale admits, trying to calm his ragged breathing to slow shaking breaths. The white-hot pain begins to ease gradually. Dulling to a subtle twinge in his effort. "Really, love. It’s fading now.”

Fearful any movement may agitate his angel's condition he lays down to meet pained sapphire eyes. “Tell me what you need.” 'let me help. I didn't mean to hurt you. I can fix this.'

Knowing his husband would not let this go, without firm reassurance, he releases his vice grip on Crowley's hand. Bringing it to his dutiful husband's cheek he offers a more convincing smile. “I'm fine, dearest. I promise. Just need a moment.”

'I'm such an arse. Fucking idiot.' "Dove, I'm so sorry." He says, golden eyes pleading for forgiveness.

"I'm not upset with you, Crowley. I know you would never do anything to harm us."

Crowley covers the hand pressing into his angel's side with his own, "You sure you're alright?"

"Honestly, my love. I'm not certain it was your doing." He releases the press, lacing their fingers together. "Just in case, perhaps we should hold off until we meet with Dr Frances. We should probably get a wiggle on at any rate."

"Probably right." Crowley agrees. All thoughts of sensual pursuits had already faded with the realisation of his angel's pain. Remembering the internet's advice for sore muscles he decides on a course of action. "C'mon. I'm giving you a bath."

Aziraphale is scooped into Crowley's arms and carried into their bathroom. Setting his gorgeous angel on the vanity stool, he prepares the bath. They had long since run out of their original stock of bath products from Nice. Thankfully, ingenious humans found a way to make every commodity available through the internet. With a few clicks and one viable credit card, they had everything delivered to their cottage. 

Crowley pours the scented oils and soothing salts into the filling tub. The room blooms with the clean aroma of menthol and peppermint. They had both discovered this preparation works best at relieving Aziraphale's aching muscles and joints.

He quickly gathers the soaps and lotions his angel prefers. Setting them near the steaming tub. Making sure their robes and fresh towels are in place, before checking the temperature of the water. Once everything passes his meticulous inspection he returns to his angel.

When both are finally reclining in their tub, Aziraphale relaxes in his husband’s arms. The bath is luxurious, salts and oils ease all remaining tension in Aziraphale’s body. Crowley works the muscles of his lower back, until he is putty in his hands. After seeing to corporal comfort, his husband diligently makes certain he is immaculate before they emerge from the water.

Once they dress, Aziraphale hurries down to their library to collect a stack of envelopes. In the Bentley, he checks over them to make sure they are all present and accounted for, before tucking them in his pocket.

Crowley, whose curiosity is peaked, asks, “Whatcha got there, angel?”

“Invitations,” Aziraphale informs, adjusting his tartan scarf just so. “Did you want to add anyone to the list, dearest?” Already knowing the answer, he couldn’t help asking. His husband had made such a fuss about the event it was amusing to goad him once more.

Seeing the hook dangled before him Crowley starts the Bentley. As his trusty car roars to life, he mumbles under his breath, “Have a couple I would like to subtract.”

Aziraphale smiles to himself. “Dearest really it won’t be so bad. You like Anathema and Newton.”

“Tolerate is more like it,” he grumbles pressing the remote to the garage door.

‘I know that is categorically false.’ Scooting over to his husband’s side he nestles closer. “Would you mind terribly if after our appointment we make a few stops?” He asks resting a hand on leather-clad knee.

‘You’re working me, and I don’t even care.’ Crowley sighs dramatically, “Where did you have in mind?”

“Well, Head Office, Madam Tracy’s, and Tadfield,” Aziraphale informs, more than asks.

“Head office?" Crowley asks in alarm. Sure they hadn’t heard from Beelzebub, but they hadn’t received any positive news either. Being that close to the Gates of Hell, after the stunt he pulled, was too dangerous for his comfort.

"I have to deliver the invitation to Sera, dearest. Can't do that through the regular post." Aziraphale says with confidence. “And you are going to help me deliver it.”

“Me?” he asks in disbelief. ‘They may have extended an invitation my way for the trial, but I doubt they will just let a demon wander about. Even if that particular demon has God’s protection.’

“Yes. Your sister wants to see you, I am sure.” Aziraphale says tucking Sera’s invitation into his husband’s coat pocket. “And that way you can keep an eye on me. I know you are fretting about the dangers of me walking in alone.”

"Fine.” he concedes. ‘You aren’t going to listen to reason at any rate.’ Crowley backs the Bentley out of their garage. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What is it, my love?” Aziraphale asks expecting to be lectured on safety.

“Promise me to keep it to a reasonable level of obnoxious holiday cheer.” He sneers, “No damn trudging through the bloody snow carolling. I am not dressing up as Father Christmas. We are not watching the Queen’s speech. And no damn Christmas music.”

‘I believe Dickens wrote a book about you. And it probably won’t snow anyhow.’ Aziraphale may acquiesce to the majority of his husband’s curt demands, but there was one he simply couldn’t be expected to give up. “Not even Tchaikovsky?” He pouts with all the pitiable dejection he was capable of. ‘You know how I adore The Nutcracker.’

Crowley sees the manipulative abject stare he was being delivered. ‘That is not fair. The Nutcracker isn’t so bad.’ “Fine.” he sighs. ‘There will be no living with you otherwise.’ 

Aziraphale rewards his husband with a brilliant smile and kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, my love.” He snuggles into Crowley quite pleased with their compromise.

10:00 am  
Divinity Obstetrics and Gynaecology

As always they are greeted by the same sweet receptionist, and take their position, near the door that led to the interior office. There was one other woman, sitting very much alone, on the far end of the waiting area. By Crowley’s amateur estimation she appears to be in her eighth month. Though he couldn’t be certain.

With a quick peek inside the very pregnant woman’s head, Crowley's demonic blood boils. What he was hoping to find was the woman's partner was unavoidably detained elsewhere. Working hard under some shitheel boss who wouldn't give them the hour off needed to support this woman. Or perhaps she had made this monumental decision on her own. Instead, he sees her husband who was “too busy” to attend their appointment. By too busy the horse's arse meant he was out gallivanting with his friends at a pub, spending his wife's hard-earned money on drink, and other women’s attentions. ‘Bloody knob.’ He was careful to keep his grimace to himself.

Without his angel knowing he secretly performs a demonic miracle. The husband would soon find himself in the middle of a life-changing incident. Nothing too severe to leave him unable to perform his fatherly duties. Just enough to make him realize where his time is best spent. As an added bonus he gifts the man a little hex. Rendering him impotent for all others save his wife. Sure he was tampering with free will, but he was a demon after all.

“Mrs Crowley!” came the familiar raspy voice. Agnes stood in the door, phlegmatic as usual. Aziraphale stood, quickly followed by his husband. Nurse Agnes regarded both of them with appraising eyes. Her dour expression unchanging as she states, “aren’t we glowing today?”

Aziraphale looks over himself as if there were evidence of the statement to be seen. He looks to his husband who gives a subtle head shake to the negative. Satisfied that it is merely an expression of some sort he smiles back to the nurse. “How are you today Agnes?”

“Splendid,” she says dryly opening the door for them to enter. Aziraphale complies with the unspoken command. 

As Crowley passes the look he receives is one of accusation. He isn’t quite sure at what the woman is disapproving of. Though, for the briefest of moments he imagines she knew about their morning pursuits.

Per the norm, Aziraphale is weighed. “Right on track.” the middle-aged nurse says jotting down the information. “Same as always,” she says turning towards the exam rooms, walking without looking back to see if she is being followed. “On the bed, father in your spot.” Turning to face them at the first door. “Vitals, then the doctor will be in. We’ve had to let the technician go. She proved to be unreliable. So Dr Frances will be performing the ultrasound again.” Nurse Agnes says as if irritated with the world.

Aziraphale smiles politely. In truth he preferred the doctor to perform the ultrasound. If there were any issues she would be able to inform them immediately. He did as instructed, as did his husband, neither willing to incur the wrath of their nurse. She may be human, but something about her gave them both the sense she was formidable when pushed. 

Nurse Agnes quickly sets to work. Making notes, occasionally giving Crowley the same disapproving glances.

Growing frustrated with the ongoing wordless admonishment Crowley scowls, refusing to look at the woman any longer. ‘The bloody Hell is your problem? Haven’t done e’nything to you human.’

Agnes just finishes her portion of the visit just as the door swings open. “Mrs and Mr Crowley. How are we today?” smiles Dr Frances as she closes the door.

“We are very well Doctor. And yourself?” Aziraphale greets caressing the swell of his belly.

“I’m well,” she says taking the clipboard from her nurse. Looking over the notated information she turns back to them, “Moving right along then?”

Beaming brightly down at their little one, “Yes.” ‘It is rather noticeable now isn’t it.’

Dr Frances nods and goes to wash her hands. “Any complications?”

“Well, I had this sharp pain in my…” He looks to his husband briefly ‘I am not blaming you. You need not guilt yourself over this. “lower abdomen when I... moved. Suddenly.”

Dr Frances crosses the narrow distance, applying her gloves. “Lay back for me please,” she asks, assisting Aziraphale to lie on the exam bed. She pulls out the little tray for his legs. “Lift your shirt.” Aziraphale complies quickly. Gloved hand pressing into his stomach. Kneading little circles before moving to another location. “Describe the pain for me please.”

“Well this morning I turned quickly and I felt like I strained something there. It was sharp and stinging. ” Aziraphale placed his hand on the side of his belly, low, near his pelvis. “It went away. I have never felt anything like it.”

Dr Frances focuses on the identified spot. Pressing, eyes looking over every inch of skin. “Any bleeding?”

“No.” ‘Crowley wasn’t that forceful. A playful shove was all. Why would there be blood?’

Dr Frances puts her hands on her hips, eyes still assessing her patient. “I would like to perform a pelvic exam. Nurse Agnes will you prep Mrs Crowley? We’ll do a pap while we are at it.”

Remembering his brief research Crowley straightens in his chair. ‘Aziraphale is not going to like this.’ “Doctor, is that necessary?”

“I want to check your wife’s cervix, Mr Crowley.” she addresses the father pointedly. Dr Frances turns back to Aziraphale with a kind expression, “If you are miscarrying softening of the cervix may be present. Though I don’t think that is the issue, Mrs Crowley.” Both parents complexions drain of all colour.

Aziraphale looks to Crowley in panic. His heart racing at the incomprehensible thought of losing their child. ‘I can’t lose them. We can’t lose them. God, please protect them.’

Crowley sees his angel’s terror plain as his own. Pushing his aside he focuses on comforting Aziraphale. Grasping his angel’s suddenly cold hand cursing his stupidity. ‘I’m sorry, angel. I will never forgive myself if something happens to them. Wouldn’t expect you too either.’

Seeing the father’s unease Dr Frances continues, “If you would rather wait outside I can call you in when we do the ultrasound.”

“I think not.” Crowley glares at the impudence of the human. Holding his angel’s hand tightly, he would be there, no matter the outcome.

“Alright.” Dr Frances says removing her gloves.

Agnes hands Aziraphale a gown. “Remove everything. Put this on with the opening in the back,” she instructs.

Aziraphale looks at the gown as if it might attack him. “Everything?” he asks, mind still reeling from the news.

“Yes. All of your clothing, including undergarments. Once you are done have a seat on the bed. We’ll be right outside. Call out when you are ready.” Dr Frances directs.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says nervously. “T-thank you, doctor.” The two women leave the room. If his hands weren’t currently holding the coarse cotton gown they would be wringing feverishly.

Crowley hurries around the bed uncertain of what to do. He takes the gown from his angel and sets it aside. Blue eyes stare up at him, pleading for him to say something. He takes Aziraphale in his arms. Trying to think of the right words to lessen his angel's fears. When he comes up short he settles for the only words that mean anything, "Dove, I am so sorry."

Aziraphale’s mind is racing with too many thoughts to think rationally. He has no idea what it is their doctor is even proposing. The one bit of information he could remember was the word pap. Recalling their first time at the office, the paperwork, and Crowley’s unwillingness to describe the procedure he requests flatly, "Tell me what it is they plan to do."

Crowley looks to the door, then over to the bed. Finally back to distant sapphire eyes. "Ok." he sighs collecting his thoughts. "The stirrups, you’re going to have to go back into those. From there Dr Frances is going to examine you. There is this bit of flesh called the cervix. It separates your womb from the birth canal. When you go into labour it will open to allow our child out.”

He isn’t sure if his angel is comprehending his explanation. Aziraphale's expression is impassive, gaze listless. The sight of his angel devoid of any emotion chills him to the core of his essence. 'I did this.' Guilt lodges in his throat.

With no small amount of effort, he shoulders on with the description. “For the pap, she is going to insert a device so she can see inside. They do something with a stick. Not exactly sure." he admits. Still, his angel remains blank.

Aziraphale doesn’t say a word. Hands begin methodically opening the little buttons of his blouse. There is a slight tremble of delicate fingers as they work. 

Crowley seizes the button just beneath the one his angel is struggling with, taking over to be of some use. "I'm sorry, dove."

Aziraphale looks at his husband. His mind grabs hold of hope. "Dr Frances said she doesn't believe it is a miscarriage." He manages to say faintly. "This is only to verify that hypothesis." Relinquishing the task of undressing, he watches Crowley intently.

Taking his time divesting his angel of the layers, he is relieved to see life return to Aziraphale's eyes. Human's schedule be damned, they would take as long as the love of his existence needs. Folding each garment neatly he places them on the counter. Once is angel is nude he assists Aziraphale into the gown, fastening the tie at the neck. "I will be right beside you." He reassures.

Aziraphale smiles weakly before wrapping his arms around his husband. "I love you, Crowley."

He returns the hug, "I will always love you Aziraphale." His angel's words crash into him. It was all he needed to hear, and yet he felt undeserving. The prickle of tears was willed away, they could wait. Aziraphale needed him to be strong now. He helped his angel back on the bed. Pressing a kiss to starlight ringlets before calling for the humans.

Both enter, Dr Frances seeming unphased by the lengthy passage of time. Nurse Agnes, quite the opposite. She readies the stirrups, looking as that they are the cause for her frustration.

Dr Frances prepares a rolling tray of various implements before washing her hands. Agnes leaves to grab something from a cupboard. Returning she drapes a thin sheet over Aziraphale's legs. Then assists him into the stirrups. This time he adjusts himself, before the doctor has to pull him nearly off the end of the bed.

Crowley holds his angel's hand, lacing their fingers together. Dr Frances takes position on her rolling stool. Folding back the sheet to expose the object of examination.

Turning to her tray, she applies a generous amount if lubricant to gloved middle and index fingers. "Ok Mrs Crowley you are going to feel me touch you, then I'm going to check your cervix. You may feel some discomfort or pressure."

True to Dr Frances's words Aziraphale felt her one hand spread him open, while the cold, lubricated fingers slid inside. It was more strange at first than anything. Then as her fingers found their intended target that's when the real unpleasant feeling began. There was pressure, a fair amount of it. Feeling as though something was too far where it ought not to be. Aziraphale breathes slow and steady. Hand clenching his husband's tightly. Eyes closed thinking of anything besides the pressure. 'It is fine. Not so bad. My doctor is performing a routine procedure to make sure everything is alright. Nothing to be alarmed over.'

"Your cervix feels excellent. Nice and firm. No dilation." Dr Frances announces as she slides free. "Now just to complete the pap test and we can get on with more pleasant business."

"Thank you, doctor." Aziraphale sighs in profound relief. In that instance, he is quite glad he is lying down. The alleviation he felt made him so light-headed, he was sure had he been standing, they would be plucking him off the floor.

Crowley too was able to breathe again. It may not be done among his kind but in that room, a demon bowed his head in sincere reverence to his creator. 'God, if you still hear me thank you. Thank you for our child's safety.'

Frances takes a device from the tray and after a bit of manipulation a light turns on. "Alright Mrs Crowley you know the drill. Cold speculum, I will insert the swab to collect the sample, and you may feel some cramping. Easy peasy."

As before he felt her open him, the glowing contraption was slowly inserted, which was indeed cold. When the doctor was satisfied with the placement she began to fiddle with the gadget once more. Aziraphale felt a slight tapping and pinching sensation but nothing too alarming. He relaxed as best he could, watching Dr Frances's studious expression.

"Very healthy cervix, Mrs Crowley. Now for the collection." The doctor takes a long stick in hand. At the end, it appeared to have white bristles converging to a point. She inserted the little brush and Aziraphale was acutely aware when it was in place.

Dr Frances was right again. He did feel sudden cramping. A strange sensation but not overly painful. He closes his eyes, focusing his breathing once more. Then before he knew it, it was over. Dr Frances was dipping the little implement in a small cup of liquid. Agnes busied herself with closing the cup while the doctor removed the device. “Most likely round ligament pain. There are ligaments supporting your uterus. They are working overtime to accommodate your growing baby. It is completely normal. Be careful with sudden movements, or rolling over in bed. Your body is going through a whole host of changes. With that, there is going to be discomfort. It’s normal, but if your symptoms change I want you to give us a call. Alright?”

“Yes, Doctor.” smiles Aziraphale. As far as he was concerned their doctor could spend the rest of the day poking about. She had given them wonderful news and for that, he would not complain over any inconvenience or discomfort.

Agnes assists him up on the bed and out of the stirrups. He feels lips press to his hand, along with cool wet droplets. Crowley is trembling at his side. Tears falling from behind dark lenses. 'Oh, my sweet husband.'

Frances crosses to the sink to wash up, “Do you have a maternity belt?”

“No. Should I?” ‘What in God’s name is a maternity belt?’ Nurse Agnes takes his arm and with Crowley's assistance, Aziraphale is brought to his feet.

“It might help. Should ease any back pain. You might look into prenatal yoga. Some of my patients swear by it.” She informs as she places on fresh gloves.

“Maternity belt, yoga, got it.” Crowley answers with a sniff.

“Now if you will redress we will measure your belly and do the ultrasound.” Dr Frances asserts before she and Agnes leave once again.

As soon as they are alone Crowley pulls Aziraphale into his chest. Arms holding his family, face buried in pale hair. "Are you alright, dove?" He asks unable to get close enough. Slipping his essence ever so slightly to brush against his angel's

“Yes, my love.” he smiles up at his husband, essence singing to Crowley's “I am better now. The exam was uncomfortable but not so dreadful. I feel like I need another bath, however.”

Crowley leans down, kissing his angel tenderly. ‘I am sorry you had to go through that. I’m going to be more careful.’ “When we get home I promise a long bath with those lavender salts you like.”

“Thank you, my love. What would I do without you?” he beams up at the doting beautiful father of his child.

The praise and kind words twist against his guilt. 'I hurt you and you thank me as if nothing happened.' "I'm going to do better Aziraphale." He promises unable to meet his angel's loving gaze.

Aziraphale takes his husband's sharp chin in hand. "Anthony J. Crowley, you listen to me. You did nothing we have not done before. You had no way of knowing, nor did I for that matter, that a playful romp in our nest could cause something like that to happen. Dr Frances said it was normal. Now, I will not have you blaming yourself any further. Do we have an understanding?" He said with all the sternness he could muster.

Crowley can’t help but smirk at the scolding. "F'course angel." 'You are going to make one Hell of a mother. Poor kid. God help them if they ever ruffle your feathers too much.'

“I love you, dearest.”

“Love you too, dove.”

“Now," he says untying his gown and tossing it on the bed. "Give me a kiss and help me dress. I am quite ready to see our child.”

Crowley does readily, with a bit more passion than perhaps Aziraphale had anticipated. He leaves his angel a bit dazed as he helps Aziraphale pulling on sensible cotton panties. This time redressing takes no time at all. When Aziraphale is once again seated on the bed, Crowley rushes to the door. “My wife is ready.”

Frances and Agnes enter once more. The measuring takes no time at all. Confirming that Aziraphale was, in fact, fifteen weeks along. The ultrasound machine is quickly brought over and prepared. Both parents wait with bated breath to see their little one. On the screen, the little grey mass starts to materialise. 

"There they are." Dr Frances announces with a smile. “There’s their spine. Let’s see…” She adjusts the device until their baby’s full profile comes into view. “That’s better.” she makes several clicks on the machine freezing the image.

On the monitor, the white outline of their baby's features are clearly defined. Lips, nose, a little hand tucked close under their tiny chin. Both parents stare in awe. All the earlier unpleasantness forgotten in that instant. Crowley kisses his angel’s hand, needing something to remind him he isn’t soaring a mile over the earth.

“They look perfect. Four inches,” Dr Frances informs. Several more clicks and the heartbeat whirres in the silence of the room. “One hundred and forty beats per minute. Excellent.” She turns to the two staring wide-eyed at the screen. "Would you like to know their gender?”

Crowley shifts in his chair. ‘If you are asking that means…’ "You can tell their gender?"

Frances nods. Aziraphale and Crowley turn to each other. “No.” Aziraphale answers. “Thank you, doctor.”

“Would you like a 3D image of them?” Frances offers.

The doctor’s question is lost on Aziraphale, “3D?” he asks brows drawn up in confusion.

“Yes, we would,” Crowley interjects. Explaining the complexities of modern imaging would definitely tip the humans off to his angel’s outdated understanding of technology.

Dr Frances turns to the machine and with a few more clicks the image is washed beige. Moving the probe around she is able to focus on their face. “There’s your baby.”

‘Alexandria.’ "Oh my.” Aziraphale whispers. “You can see all the details of their little features. Dearest.” he turns to his husband. Crowley is wiping away several tears. ‘Oh, my love.’ “Aren’t they beautiful?"

“Yes.” he agrees. Crowley kisses his angel’s knuckles. Resting his cheek on their joined hands. ‘Thank you.’

Aziraphale looks back to the image of their child. Their little mouth opening wide in what resembles a yawn. "What is that they are doing?" He asks pointing to the monitor.

"Practicing breathing," Frances says. When their baby settles again she clicks the machine and the image stills.

Crowley looks towards the doctor, "Can we get a picture?"

"Of course. Agnes will get you all set up." She smiles to the father. Dr Frances cleans Aziraphale’s belly and stands. “See you back in two weeks.”

"Yes. Thank you, doctor." Aziraphale smiles smoothing down his blouse.

"You are very welcome. Everything looks perfect. Keep up the good work. Think about that maternity band." She instructs before leaving the room.

Twenty minutes later they are outside. Walking hand in hand to the Bentley. Aziraphale guiding them as Crowley’s attention is fully on the photo of their child. He stops them on the sidewalk beside the trusty car. “Dearest, are you alright?”

Crowley tucks the picture in his coat pocket. “Yeah. Just...Thank you, dove. For everything.”

“You had a hand in this too, my love,” he says pressing a quick peck to his husband’s lips. “I didn’t make them alone.”

“Not just them,” Crowley says gently pressing his angel against the car. Hands sliding under cream coat to discreetly caress Aziraphale’s belly. “All of it. From the very beginning.”

“Again Crowley. I didn’t do it alone.” ‘And I was hardly praise worthy at times.’

“Yeah, well.” he gives his angel a quick peck. “All the same.” Crowley opens the Bentley’s door and helps Aziraphale inside. “We need to get you a maternity belt.” He pulls out his phone and keys in the search. “There is a shop not far from here.”

12:15 pm  
Crouch End London

Crowley parks outside the residence of his former human operative, currently shit-listed, Sargent Shadwell. And the kindly con artist who once styled herself a medium, but was far more skilled at her intimate relaxation techniques. The boot of the Bentley freshly packed with a large oddly shaped pillow, a bag of maternity belts and bras, minus the one his angel was currently wearing. One of the items he presently wants to immolate.

“I don’t know why you need the bloody pillow.” He grumbles exiting the Bentley.

“The lovely woman recommended it.” Aziraphale explains, “She said I would need it, the further along I am.” They both walk up to the grey door of 473 Jacobite street.

“Still,” Crowley grumbles, looking quite put out. ‘I am more than willing to hold you.’

Deducing his husband’s sudden dislike for the innocuous item, he grins, “Darling, are you jealous of my pillow?”

‘Yes.’ “No. Just don’t know why you feel you need the damn thing.” Crowley sneers, pressing the button for flat 36a.

‘No pillow will ever replace you.’ Aziraphale steps closer to his husband, with a perfect coquettish smile, “Don’t worry, my love.” He straightens Crowley’s scarf, “If I do decide to use the pillow, I will still expect you to hold me.” Aziraphale says patting his husband’s chest.

‘I’d like to see someone try to stop me.’

The door opens and the surprised Madam Tracy greets the pair, "Ello, loves."

“Hello, Mrs Shadwell.” Aziraphale smiles down at the slight woman.

“Come in you two. I just put a pot of tea on.” She says stepping aside.

“Ah, uh no. We have to be going.” Crowley tells the woman, trying to discourage his angel from accepting the former Madam’s invitation.

“Well, that would be delightful. Thank you.” Aziraphale beams stepping through the threshold.

‘Bugger me sideways with a teabag.’ Crowley dramatically throws his head back in annoyance. Still following his angel into the hall of the flat.

"Who isit woman?" Calls the Sergeant from the top of the stairs.

"Aziraphale and Mr Crowley stopped by to pay us a visit. Isn’t that nice Mr S?" Tracy says in her sweet patronizing voice, to remind her husband to be polite.

"Oh. Ahhh...Ello, Mr Crowley. Your Ladyship." Shadwell says suddenly nervous.

"Aziraphale will do just fine, Mr Shadwell." he smiles ascending the stairs toward the human.

Shadwell shows them inside. The flat is littered with boxes, packed and labelled as to what room they belong to. They are directed to sit at the former seance table. Tracy brings them both tea, though Crowley had refused. Shadwell turning his into a thick cloying syrup. That Aziraphale was sure, if he had to ingest the liquid, it would cause his morning sickness to return.

"Moving right along than, aren't we, love?" Mrs Shadwell says gesturing with her teacup to Aziraphale’s bump.

"Yes.” Aziraphale smiles taking a sip of tea. “Fifteen weeks. We've just come from the doctor. Would you like to see the sonogram?"

"Yes, dear. Don't be holding out on us." The former Madam brightens. Crowley reluctantly passes the picture of their child to the woman. Daring either human to soil the treasured memento. "Oh, would you look at tha. They are beautiful. Aren't they beautiful Mr S." She turns the image to her husband.

Though the thought of a demon’s spawn unnerved him, he would not begrudge the child it’s parentage. After all, it was only half-demon. And that demon was currently sitting in their flat, glaring at him. "Ey. Beautiful bairn, yu’ve got th’re. Congr’dulations."

Tracy passes it back to the demon, who quickly tucks it into his breast pocket. "Do you know if they're a boy or girl?" She asks sweetly.

Aziraphale sets his tea down, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "No, we have decided we would prefer not to know."

"Well, all the same, we are very happy for you," Tracy says, taking her husband’s hand to encourage a respectful response.

"Right. Happy." Shadwell offers an awkward smile. 

"You seem to be packing," Aziraphale points to the state of the flat.

Mrs Shadwell looks around her. "That we are. Found a lovely bungalow in Reading," she informs the inquisitive angel.

The Witchfinder sneers, "Retirement community. Sodding bunch of old twats."

Tracy tsks at her husband’s remark. "Mr S, we are of an age now. And Pegasus Court seems like a delightful place."

"Er, purop’rt’s nice enough." He admits drinking his viscous tea.

"Well, I believe congratulations are in order for you two as well. Happy news all around." Aziraphale says politely. His husband offers nothing, just sullenly glowering at the door.

"So tell us, what brought you two love birds by?" Tracy asks, refilling her husband’s cup.

"Well, we would like to invite you to our Christmas party," Aziraphale says presenting her with an envelope.

"Oh, thank you, Aziraphale.” Mrs Shadwell accepts the invitation. She opens it and shows it to her husband. “We would love to, wouldn't we Mr S."

Shadwell knew he better heed his wife’s suggested response, "Um, ey… that we woold."

“Splendid.” Aziraphale beams to his husband. Crowley gives him an uncivil sneer. To which he rolls his eyes in disapproval. ‘You call me a bastard.’ “Right, well, Mrs Shadwell, Sargent. It has been delightful catching up with you both. We have several more stops to make so we best be popping along. Thank you for the tea.”

“You are most welcome, deary. Call on us any time.” Tracy sees them out.

1:45 pm  
Head office

They enter Head Office together. Crowley, vigilant for any threat that may be lurking around any corner. He didn’t like the idea, but his angel was right. There were no curriers able to deliver to this lofty address. Sure they had God’s protection but being a demon in Heaven was still disconcerting. Made even more so by the fact that Hell was just one step to the left and an escalator ride down. To ease his trepidation he made sure his angel’s coat was closed securely, and oversized scarf draped just so.

At the top of the escalator, all eyes are upon them. Where the corridors had been empty the day of the trial, today they were bustling with angels moving about their tasks. The sight of a demon stalls everything with nervous tension.

“Well, I feel welcome,” Crowley grumbles watching two lesser angels whispering to one another.

Aziraphale stands before his husband. “Don’t mind them, dearest.” He brings up a hand to turn Crowley’s attention away from the gathering crowd. “They don’t know you as I do.” grasping his husband’s scarf he pulls him down into a kiss. Instantly the on looking angels disperse.

‘That worked.’ Crowley smirks at the few on-lookers lagging behind watching their public display. “An Archangel snogging a demon for all Heaven to see. You’ll be the gossip around every water cooler for sure.”

‘Let them see. I am proud you are my husband.’ “They don’t have water coolers,” Aziraphale states with a slight smugness to his smile. “And I will kiss my husband whenever he and I see fit, dearest.” He straightens the lapels of Crowley’s coat.

“Whenever you want, dove.” Crowley smiles at his clever, wicked, beautiful angel.

A little angel still lingering nearby finds the courage to approach the pair. “H-hello. You must be the Ar-Archangel Az-Az-z-iraphale?”

“Yes, I appear to be. What is your name?” he asks politely of the nervous angel.

“T-Tem-Temeluch,” They stammer, eyes fluttering, trying to get their name out in a way that could be comprehended.

“Temeluch.” Aziraphale smiles, taking the angel’s trembling hands in his. “It is a pleasure to meet you Temeluch.” ‘I remember you. You worked under Gabriel as well. You poor dear.’ “We are here to see Seraphiel. Do you know where she might be?” he smiles to the timid angel. ‘I will not be like Gabriel.’

"A-a m-m-moment." stutters Temeluch. He takes out his phone and makes a call. “A-A-Arch-an-gel Az-z-zir-a-ph-phale want-ts to to s-s-ee S-Ser-a.” Fidgeting anxiously he waits for a response. “T-thank you,” he says to the person on the other end. Turning back to Aziraphale and his demonic husband he announces, “S-sh-she w-will be in-informed.”

“Thank you Temeluch. By chance who do you report to now?” Aziraphale asks formulating a plan.

“N-no one. N-not s-s-since G-G-G.” Temeluch swallows hard, shaking his head. “S-since he he F-fell.” sad green eyes look to the newly appointed Archangel.

Aziraphale knew the fear Gabriel was capable of inflicting on those beneath him. What he couldn’t imagine was being in Heaven all these centuries with Gabriel hounding his every move. He at least had hundreds of years between his unwelcome visitations. As he was an Archangel now, there might be something he could do to help Temeluch. At least be a kinder supervisor than their’s had been. “I am not in Heaven often. But I am pregnant, as I am sure you of all angels are aware. I might be in need of your expertise.” Aziraphale smiles sweetly.

“Y-yes. God b-be praised.” smiles Temeluch. Besides God, he was, in fact, the first to be made aware of this unique pregnancy.

“I could put in a requisition that you be transferred to my service if you like?” Aziraphale offers. If Temeluch refused that was his choice to make. 

“Aziraphale what are you doing?” Crowley whispers in his angel’s ear.

“We’ll talk later, dearest,” he reassures. ‘I can’t leave the poor dear to be mistreated any longer.’

“I-If y-you w-w-wish.” the little angel smiles, slight frame standing a bit taller.

“I will see to it immediately Temeluch. I may be calling on you for aid at some point.” he smiles pulling aside his coat to reveal the bump beneath.

“I-I am g-glad to to be of s-service.” beams Temeluch, who appears to be a bit more relaxed than when he first approached. Crowley is even surprised when he is afforded the same polite regard.

"Aziraphale!" Rings out from across the sterile expanse of Heaven. Aziraphale and Crowley turn to see Sera blazing brightly with joy as she hurries over to them.

Aziraphale turns back to his soon to be charge. “Thank you Temeluch you have been most helpful. If you will excuse us.” Temeluch nods leaving the trio.

Sera stops short, realizing that Aziraphale is not alone. She looks from demon to angel, then back. Panic, joy, uncertinty flash across her fiery features. When at last she can speak she breathes "Samael," as if she had been waiting an eternity to utter the name.

Crowley shoves his hands in his pockets. “S’not my name anymore." 'Don’t look at me like that. I will not have your pity.'

Embarrassed by the mistake her light diminishes to a small flicker, "I'm sorry. Crowley is it?"

"Yeah." He grumbles, shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably. Chewing on nothing.

Sera takes a tentative step closer, "I'm glad to see you, Crowley."

The sincerity in her voice catches him off guard. He always liked Sera but he half expected to be jeered at. Called what he was, a demon, and ordered from her presents. Instead, she was smiling, timid, hopeful. Crowley mumbles, "You too, Sera."

Aziraphale, sensing the tension only growing between them, interjects, "My husband has something for you, Sera."

Catching his angel's prompt he fishes the invitation from his breast pocket. Crowley thrusts the invite toward the surprised Seraph, who takes it gingerly.

Sera opens the envelope, bright eyes glowing like the sun as she reads. "Yes! I accept. I will be there." Her fires renewed to their intense glory.

"Wonderful. Crowley's number is at the bottom. If you like, we could pick you up a few days before. Show you around London." Aziraphale offers to the angel that is more flame than figure.

"I would like that." She smiles pressing the unburnt invitation to her fiery chest.

"Oh! Dearest, show Sera the sonogram." Aziraphale prods his husband.

'I doubt she's interested in our kid.' He pulls the picture from his pocket and presents it to his former choir mate.

Sera reigns in her fire to accept the photo. She stares in wonder at the little face, studying their features, "Almighty be praised. They are beautiful." She utters with all reverence. Relinquishing the image back to her brother she appears even more uncertain than before.

Crowley returns the picture to his pocket. Noting Sera’s response he is surprised. 'Ok. I was wrong. Wouldn't be the first time.'

"Thank you." Aziraphale answeres for them both. As some cat had apparently run off with not only his husband’s tongue, but also his manners.

Sera looks to them both, before settling once again on Crowley, "I would like… if you wouldn't mind… visiting when they are born." Her eyes avert to the white floor. As if she were a child waiting to be scolded.

Crowley gives a defeated sigh. If he were being honest he would admit Sera would be a welcome presence in their child's life. He had never known her to be unkind. Some of his fondest memories of Heaven included her and their antics. And she was a Seraph, not a being easily trifled with. "Sera you can visit us whenever you want." He tried to sound annoyed but he meant every word.

Sera's fires roar to life, before quickly dying down. She lunges on Crowley. Arms thrown over his shoulders, face buried in his neck. Caught completely by surprise Crowley staggers to remain standing. "Thank you. I've missed you, brother."

'I've missed you too, tag along.' "Yeah well, not much either of us could do about it." He brings an arm up to embrace his favourite sibling. "Just call first, yeah?"

Sera releases him and smiles a thanks to Aziraphale, "I will." Looking at the invitation again she asks, "To my understanding, there are gifts exchanged at Christmas?"

"That is the custom, yes. But you needn't worry about all that." Aziraphale assures her.

"No.” She says thinking over all the possibilities. “I am going to get you both something.” A mischievous smile is shot to her brother.

‘No, I know that look. Aziraphale is going to regret this.’ "Sera you really don't have to." Crowley sighs knowing the futility of the statement.

"No. This is my first Christmas I want to do this right." She says lost to her own machinations.

Aziraphale smiles proudly feeling he has found an ally in his pursuit of a wonderful holiday celebration, "I appreciate your enthusiasm." He cuts his husband an accusing look. 'See dearest, its not so difficult.'

Sera snaps back to reality. "There is so much to do. If you need my help with anything, don't hesitate to ask. This is going to be so much fun."

Aziraphale smiles, "We will see you in a few weeks then?"

"Yes. Thank you, Aziraphale." She embraces her new friend. Aziraphale chuckles at her zealous affection. Once she releases the Archangel she turns to her choir mate "Thank you, brother."

“See you Sera,” Crowley says softly. He feels Aziraphale take his arm, turning them for the exit. They rode the escalator down, Crowley remaining on alert until they entered the Bentley. Shoulders tense, the cause he couldn’t quite place.

“I like your sister,” Aziraphale says breaking the heavy silence that has fallen between them.

Crowley grabs his angel’s hand tightly. “Thanks, dove.”

“You are most welcome, my love.” Aziraphale smiles, resting his head on his husband’s shoulder.

4:22 pm  
Jasmine Cottage

The sky over Jasmine Cottage as dreary like the rest of England. The lush foliage that surrounded the quaint dwelling a few months past was beginning to wither. Mother nature was in the process of changing her gown, in preparation for the coming colder weather. Aziraphale and Crowley stood before the witches door. A steady pattering of rain forcing the pair to seek shelter under the eaves of the entrance.

Anathema opens the door with an excited smile, "Hey, guys."

“Bookgirl.” Crowley greets. Not waiting for an invitation he walks in, pulling his angel along with him.

Aziraphale stops them in the foyer giving Crowley a rebukeful look. "Good afternoon Anathema. Sorry for my husband’s rudeness."

“Whot?” Crowley cries shrilly. “Rudeness would be to leave us standing in the rain.”

"It’s fine," Anathema assures. She takes Aziraphale’s coat and scarf.

Crowley, figuring this visit will go much the same as the others, walks to their typical seats. Sprawling on the couch, legs and arms splayed out in all directions.

Aziraphale smiles apologetically to Anathema. He loves his husband, and it had been a taxing day. But this level of crass behaviour was uncalled for. “Please make yourself at home Aziraphale,” Anathema says as a formality. 

"Thank you.” Aziraphale walks over to his husband and sits primly at his side. If Crowley wanted to be closer he would have to adjust himself accordingly, which he does. “We...” ‘My churlish husband and I.’ “have an invitation for you." He presents the young witch with her envelope.

"Oh...I didn't know if you two celebrated Christmas." Anathema says taking the invitation.

"We don't." grouses Crowley.

"It is our first Christmas officially together. It is more of a seasonal celebration, really. Just a get together amongst friends and loved ones.” He says cutting his husband a sideways glance.

Anathema nods looking over the elegant calligraphy, "Need me to bring anything?"

"Just yourselves. Where is your mother? I have an invitation for her as well." Aziraphale asks also noticing a lack of Anathema’s young man.

"Newt drove her into town to pick up some groceries." She informs.

"Isn't that lovely. They are getting along then?" Aziraphale questions brightly.

"Yes. Whatever you said to my mother that day seems to have brought her around."

"It had nothing at all to do with me. Agnes may have had a few words of wisdom for your mother."

"Figures," Anathema says with a cocked brow. At least this time Agnes’s meddling didn’t derail her entire life into globetrotting to the end of the world.

"Well, we would love to come but we were going to Newt's mother's for Christmas. She'd be alone otherwise."

‘The more the merrier.’ "She's welcome to attend as well. You all can take the guest cottage." he offers and his husband groans.

"I'll talk with them."

"How much does his mother know, about what happ’ned?" Crowley inquires of the witch.

Thinking back on their visits, Anathema remembers the ludicrous rambling story Newt told his mother about how they met. "Virtually nothing. She certainly doesn't know about you two."

"If she is attending, it might be wise to fill her in on some of it. What we are for a start. Crowley's sister has already accepted. I'm not sure if she will be able to keep up pretences well."

"I will talk to Newt." Awareness dawns in her brown eyes, "Sister?"

‘Here we go.’ "Yes." Crowley grumbles, "My choir mate. Sera."

Anathema considers the lanky, broody rockstar persona, the demon was presenting. Part of her feels like she shouldn’t be surprised. "Didn't peg you for a singer."

"That’s not what it means. Like an order, a group. Was a Seraph. The uppermost choir.” Crowley explains irritably. Then he remembers a simple fact of angelic life. “All angels sing you know."

"All?" Asks Anathema looking at Aziraphale.

"On some level.” He agrees.

Anathema sits back in her chair, "Now I know."

"We went to our doctor's visit today." Crowley automatically had the picture out and presented before he can finish his sentence. "They did something called three-D."

Both Crowley and Anathema ignore Aziraphale’s technological ignorance. Anathema’s face melts when she sees the image. "You guys. They are precious. Look at their little nose. Did he cry?" She questions Aziraphale with a smirk.

"I'm not some kind of over-emotional twit." Crowley barks in his defence.

‘This is for your rudeness earlier.’ "Yes, but only a little."

"Aziraphale!" Crowley shrieks. ‘Bastard. Unconscionable bastard.’

Aziraphale pats his husband’s leg. "We had a bit of a scare, but all is well. We were both a bit overwhelmed in the moment."

There comes a knock at the door. Anathema hurries over to answer. Four smiling faces breach the entryway. “We saw your car, Mr Crowley. Did you come to make us more zombie pinatas?” Adam Young call to the demon.

“Antichrist.” Crowley smiles fondly at The Them. “Fraid not.”

“That’s a’right.” Adam shrugs.

Anathema allows the pack of children inside. All tracking rain into the cottage. Somehow Brian brings with him an extra bit of mud on his wellies.

‘What luck’ Hello, children. I have something for all of you.” The four, precocious saviours of the world, had saved them a great deal of additional travel by appearing so fortuitously.

All four eagerly accept their envelopes. Brian is the first to respond. “I’m sorry Miss. My parents and I are going on holiday to Italy.”

“My mum and I don’t celebrate Christmas. We are going to volunteer in Oxford. To provide meals to the vulnerable and dispossessed, that have been forgotten by the blind consumerist masses.” Pepper announces proudly.

‘Right on kid,” Crowley says with genuine praise. ‘I really like this one.’

“What’s the name of the place?” Aziraphale asks the little activist.

“The Oxford Community Soup Kitchen,” Pepper declares.  
‘Well, I can very well do as I please with miracles now.’ With a gesture of Aziraphale's hand, he makes sure all kitchens and shelters will open tomorrow to find they have sufficient amounts of food, warm clothing, and donated funds to help their patrons through the long winter months. “I hope everything goes swimmingly for you Miss Pepper. It is a noble cause.”

Wensleydale is the next to respond. “Actually we are going to visit my cousin Charlotte in America. She said she will prove there are in fact thirty-nine flavours of ice cream.” Pepper rolls her eyes at the polite little know-it-all.

Adam apologetically looks at the two beings on the sofa. “Sorry Mr Crowley, Aziraphale. My dad is big on Christmas. I don’t see him changing his plans.”

“It is quite alright Adam. We understand completely. You and your families have a very happy Christmas or whatever you wish to celebrate.” Aziraphale smiles to the children.

They all say their good-byes except for Adam. He approaches Crowley with a pitiful face. “Mr Crowley, can I talk with you?”

Something in the former antichrist’s demeanour indicated this was serious to the boy. “Yeah. Be right back, dove.” He says giving his angel’s hand a squeeze. Crowley takes Adam outside to the Bentley, away from prying ears.

“Wicked car,” Adam exclaims peering around the antique automobile.

“Yeah, thanks again for fixing the old girl,” he says shifting to better look at the boy.

“You’re welcome. Mr Crowley, you are a demon right?” Adam asks meekly.

“I am.” Crowley affirmates.

“And you have powers?” Adam inquires further.

“All angelic stock do.” Crowley answers. ‘Where are you going with this kid?’

Adam thought carefully about his words. He could have asked Aziraphale, but to his estimation, he was more closely linked with the demon than an angel. And Mr Crowley wasn’t a bad demon, not to his eleven-year-old evaluation. “When I changed things I thought I had lost my powers. That, making Satan not my dad would make me human. I don’t think it did. Didn’t really know I had powers until that last day. So I just assumed they were gone.”

“I suspect you believe they aren’t,” Crowley looks to the very young child. ‘A mortal life and angelic powers. Tha’d be a lot for anyone let alone a kid.’

Adam nods looking out the windscreen to his waiting friends.

“Wha’do you want from me kid? I can’t take your powers from you.”

Adam sighs heavily. “Can you teach me how to control them? The other night I dreamed my bike was a motorcycle. When I got up this morning it was.”

“Not so bad,” Crowley smirks.

“Yeah but now I don’t have a bike. Dad got mad thinking I lost it. Said I’d have to save my allowance to pay for a new one.” The former antichrist almost pouts.

“Listen kid just imagine it’s a bike again. Reality will do whatever you want.” Crowley instructs as if bending said reality to one’s will was a simple feat.

“But what if I think of something bad? The Kraken was my fault. What if something like that happens again?” Adam slouches in the seat.

“I see your point. Lemme talk to Aziraphale. He’s more of an expert on you than me. In the meantime, if you raise another sea monster from legend, just reimagine it as a dolphin or s’mthin.” Crowley doesn’t know what else to tell the kid. He’s had millennia to acquaint himself with the workings of his own powers and he is still trying to figure them out. ‘Could make it worse. Fucking Lucifer. Make a kid with limitless powers and no education on what to do with it all.’ “Right well on the invitation is my number. Call me if something comes up. We’ll...try to figure it out. I’ll have my angel do some research.”

“Thanks, Mr Crowley.” Adam brightens at the demon agreeing to help. “I should probably get going. Mum’s likely got supper ready.”

“Yeah, see ya kid.” Crowley watches the boy leave. Shortly after he and his friends have left Jasmine Cottage Aziraphale climbs in next to him.

“Is everything alright, dearest?” he asks. Though his husband’s sunglasses obscure his eyes Aziraphale can tell Crowley is worried.

“Kid still has his powers and doesn’t know how to control them,” he answers flatly, turning on the Bentley.

“Good Lord. What did he want from you?” Aziraphale inquires looking the direction the children disappeared.

“Wants my help. Dunno what I can do.” ‘Probably nothing.’

8:15 pm  
The Cottage

After supper, and promised second bath, the two sat quietly in front of their fire. Crowley’s head resting in his angel’s lap. Aziraphale busy reading the writings of Origen Adamantius. It had been a long day, but Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to sleep just yet. He could see his husband’s mind working over Adam Young’s unique dilemma. 

Closing his book, setting it aside with his nifty glasses, he begins carding finger through his husband’s gorgeous hair, “Penny for your thoughts, dearest?”

“Eh. Just thinking about the Antichrist.” Crowley admits still focused on the ceiling. 

“Talk to me, my love.” ‘I can tell this is troubling you.’

“It’s not just em. Our kid is going to go through the same thing.” He says looking up at his angel, then to the little bump. Gently he presses a hand to his angel’s belly. “They are going to be born with powers they have no idea how to control. Kids have tantrums. What if their tantrums cause earthquakes or monsters rising from the sea? Spontaneous volcanic eruptions?”

“I hadn’t even thought about that,” Aziraphale says in alarm. 

“Might as well forget baby proofing. They want something there’s nothing going to stop them.” Crowley mumbles, eyes seeing all the dangers their child would face. 

‘You are just being fatalistic, my love.’ “Dearest, surely it won’t be all that bad.” Aziraphale tugs at his husband’s hair to get his attention. Golden eyes finally lock with his. “Besides what are we to do? They are coming into this world however God saw fit to bless them.”

‘You would have thought She’d give us a handbook or s’methin. What to Expect When You’re Expecting A Child That Has The Capabilities of Destroying the World.’ “We are going to have to figure this out. Not just for Adam, but for our kid too.” 

“We will. Or we will figure it out as we go. It’s not like we don’t have powers of our own.” Aziraphale tries to reassure his husband. “I love them, Crowley. I don’t care how difficult this will be. After today I just want to feel them in my arms.” The thought of losing them was more than he could bear. 

Crowley sits up, pulling his angel into his lap. “I know, dove. I wasn’t suggesting I didn’t want them. But we are going to have to protect them from others, as well as themselves. I love them so much all ready. I am just trying to wrap my head around it, is all.” Crowley kisses the worry away from his angel’s brow. “I am going to be here, for the both of you. Even if our child unleashes Godzilla on London.”

Aziraphale laughs at his husband’s pledge, before realizing he needs to ask, “What’s a Godzilla?”

“No. Absolutely not. The mother of my child has to see Godzilla.” He says scooting Aziraphale off his lap and hurrying over to his DVD collection. Finding the right box, he pops it into the machine. He grabs the remote control and plops down theatrically on the sofa.

“This is a classic. It was amazing when it first came out.” Crowley hits play, holding his angel close. 

“Crowley, dearest. Have I told you I love you today?” Aziraphale smiles at his husband’s enthusiasm. 

“Yeah, couple times. Though I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,” he says resting his head against the back of the sofa. 

“Crowley?”

“Mmmm?” He hums, looking down on his angel. Firelight and the flicker of the old movie dancing on pale skin. 

“I love you.” Aziraphale smiles, snuggling into his husband’s side.

“Love you too, dove.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	28. My Love Is Evergreen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prepping for Christmas hanging with friends. 
> 
> (TRIGGER WARNING ATTEMPTED ASSAULT)...don't worry.

Sunday 1 December 2019  
11:20 pm  
The Cottage

December had finally arrived. Winter was nearly upon the Earth. Well, the northern hemisphere at least. The days were growing shorter, the blessed wonderful nights longer. Despite the lingering silent threat of Hell, the angel and demon had never been happier. 

Temeluch's transfer to Earth's principal representative was approved the moment the request was filed; to both party's delight. Having the angel responsible for watching over pregnancies in Aziraphale's employ comforted both parents immeasurably. And finally having a kind supervisor did wonders for the slight angel's very frayed nerves.

Aziraphale’s research into how to best help Adam had ground to a halt. As it happens most accounts of the Antichrist end with the intended destruction of Earth. Events being what they are no ancient theologian, prophet or seer had wisdome to glean on the matter. Though he remained hopeful, they would find a solution. And as Crowley had not received a distressing phone call, they assumed all was well on Hogback Lane. 

Things seemed to be falling neatly into place. All that is, except, the disagreement the pair currently found themselves at an impasse on.

The back door to their cottage flies open. One very irritable demon storms in from their sunroom. Glowering as only a demon can. "Not a’ppening," he yells with every ounce of determination he had ever possessed. Removing his gardening gloves, he casts them to the floor behind him. 

"Dearest," Aziraphale pleaded a few steps behind. Barely able to avoid stepping on his husband’s discarded gloves. 

Without looking back, Crowley continues his single-minded trek through their home. "Absolutely not, angel. I love you more than life itself, but we are not doing that." He pulls the collar of his soiled shirt, slipping it over his head. He turns sharply, taking the stairs two at a time. 

The muscles of Aziraphale's corporation, make themselves quite known as he struggles to keep pace with his husband. Stairs now taking him a bit longer to ascend. Yet, he is determined as the tortoise. At the top, he sees his husband disappear into their bedroom.

Upon reaching their door Crowley shoots passed him in nothing but his briefs. He wants to curse his husband’s lanky legs and unimpaired mobility. Instead, he persistently follows, "Please Crowley. It won't hurt your car."

At the end of the hall, Crowley whirls around."Aziraphale, It. Is. Not. Happening," he barks, punctuating his sincerity with a sharp thrust of his finger at every word. 

Aziraphale fixes his husband with his own determine, be it a bit pouty, glare. His tone heightening every moment his husband insists on being unreasonable. "How do you propose then we get a Christmas tree here, then?"

Reaching their linen closet Crowley pays this door the same regard as the former, "We don't. Save the environment." Crowley fishes a fresh towel from their linen closet.

"Crowley, please. This is important to me." Aziraphale is closing in when Crowley darts past him once more.

"And the Bentley is important to me." Ducking into their bedroom, he marches into their ensuite, flicking on the shower. He is about to fetch clean clothing when he is finally halted by his angel. Blocking the door, looking quite worn, Crowley sees the exhaustion settling heavy on Aziraphale's beautiful face. 

He holds up his hands, petitioning his husband for mercy, "A moment, will you?” Large blue eyes pleading with his husband to desist. Crowley does, frustration and annoyance glaring down on Aziraphale. 

With the abrupt end to his pursuit, the world around him continues to move, “I'm light-headed." Aziraphale tries to brace himself on the door frame. Only to miscalculate the distance and nearly fall on his husband.

“Dove!” Crowley grabs his angel by the arms, stepping in propping Aziraphale against the wall. All annoyance fading into concern. 

“Sorry, dearest,” he says, resting his hands on his husband’s bare chest. “I think I just need to lie down.” Aziraphale bows his head groaning miserably. 

Crowley ushers his angel back into their bedroom. Their disagreement could wait. His angel's safety, as well as their child’s, took presidents over everything else. Gently he sat Aziraphale in their nest. Stooping to pull off his angel's boots, muddied from their daily walk. “You alright, Dove?”

Aziraphale reclines back into their nest. Head still swimming, “Yes, I believe so. Overdid it, I suppose.”

Crowley sighs, before kissing his angel's perfect alabaster knee. He could see through the guise of unconvincing wellness his angel was attempting. The clamminess of Aziraphale's skin was evidence this was not an attempt at manipulating the situation. "C'mon. Let's get you comfortable."

Aziraphale allows Crowley to assist him to the centre of their nest. Resting on his side as he had so often these days. It was the only position he could tolerate for any length of time. He watched Crowley go to their closet and withdraw the hated pillow. It had been used only once since its purchase, and his husband sneered at it until it was tucked away.

"I'm gonna get a shower. Be here when I'm done and we’ll…” ‘I am such a pushover.’ “We’ll talk.”

“Take your time, my love. I think I might rest for a bit.” Aziraphale smiles weakly up at his husband, accepting his maternity pillow. Adjusting himself just so. 

It was the little things Crowley did without much thought that showed Aziraphale just how much his husband cared. Simple considerate acts he would have never thought to ask for. He pulled Crowley in for a kiss. An unspoken thanks for so many loving deeds.

Crowley leaves his angel to shower. Though his heart remained in their nest with his family. The water was perfectly hot. Far hotter than his angel would ever be able to tolerate. He let the heat of the shower soak into him. ‘It’s not that unreasonable of a request. Not like we have another car. Can’t miracle the thing over.’ He pulls his long hair free of the elastic, making sure it is soaked through before applying shampoo. ‘Might have to just start growing our own.’ Showering quickly, he cleanses away the soil that still clung to his corporation. “Don’t suppose a taxi would let you strap a tree to their roof?” ‘Why do we even need a real tree?’ 

He shuts off the water and stands dripping a moment longer. ‘Henpecked. Dovepecked. I guess there are worse things to be.’ Crowley wraps the towel around his waist and saunters back to his waiting, sleeping, angel. Sure he hated that damn pillow, but it had its uses. His angel was sleeping soundly, snoring ever so slightly, face completely relaxed. Arm and leg barely holding on to the polka-dotted menace. The sweater dress riding up over Aziraphale's hip. Lush thighs, and the slight pink of sheer panties peeking out. ‘And that’s why. You are so beautiful without even meaning to be. It's completely unfair.' 

Towel discarded on the floor, Crowley slithers into their nest. His angel doesn't stir except a flutter of a smile on soft lips. Honey and sunshine wash over him as he moulds into Aziraphal's back. He slides a hand under the cable knit dress, caressing his angel’s belly. Kissing along the shell of that perfect ear to Aziraphale's pale supple neck. 

He giggles as a particularly sensitive spot just below his jaw is brushed by a delicate kiss. Aziraphale's hand finds his husband's on their child. “Mmmm. My beautiful husband." 

Crowley nuzzles along his angel's shoulder. Voice deep and soothing, "A'right, explain to me why this is so bloody important to you." 

Aziraphale turns so he can look into his husband's alluring serpent eyes. "We are starting a new life. A family. Traditions bind people together. When our child grows up, it is my hope they will at least return to us for special occasions.” 'If they must leave at all. I dread the day when they no longer need us.' “Occasions like…"

Crowley cuts is angel off with the realization, "Christmas.” 'It's not just some insipid holiday. You are trying to make sure we don't lose them. I've been such an arse.' “Sorry, dove. Didn't think of it like that." 'I'll do better. This could work. Once a year. An arrangement to see our child when they have their own life. God, I'm an idiot.'

Aziraphale presses against Crowley. "It's not about all the frivolity. Though it has its appeal. I just want it to be perfect for them. Something they look forward to celebrating each year."

Crowley kisses his angel's cheek, "I get it." 'Our kid will have the best fucking Christmases we can give them.' 

"So the tree?"

"Yes, fine. Consider this a testament of my love for you." 'The old girl won't be happy about this. Comprehensively dovepecked, me.’

'I need no grand gestures. Though this one is particularly appreciated.' "Thank you, dearest. Will you help me up? My back is particularly troublesome today. I'm sorry to be such a burden." 

"You're not a burden," Crowley says, slowly rolling his angel towards him. "I need you to stop thinking of yourself like that. Do this for me, dove?" His voice deep and resonant the way he always feels stirs his angel's desires.

"I will try, my love." Aziraphale smiles prettily.

"Alright. Up we get. Gonna get the best damn tree in all of England." Crowley growls assisting his angel. 

12:03 pm  
The Spirit of Christmas Shop and Tree Farm

Not too far from their secluded little hideaway Crowley found a tree lot. Which seemed just the type of place his angel would appreciate. The shop looked like someone decided to make a life-size version of a gingerbread house. Complete with ridiculous candy cane and gumdrop decorations.

Crowley had begun to amble amongst the conifers. Inspecting each for sparse patches, crooked trunks, and withering. Only the finest tree would do. And for a horticulture enthusiast as demanding as Crowley those standards we're impossibly high.

He was just about to comment on one particularly pathetic specimen when he realized he was alone. Anxiety set in. Aziraphale was with him when he entered the grove of slowly dying trees. The rows too tightly packed to allow someone to wander to another. Crowley darted back to the Bentley. There was no sign of his angel. 'Not in distress, I would have felt it. You're here, but…'

Crowley turns, and there, chatting away with an elderly gentleman was Aziraphale. A trolley already piled with all manner of Christmas paraphernalia. 'You are going to be the death of me.' Crowley saunters into the cloyingly cute shop.

"Oh! Mr Coburg, this is my husband." Aziraphale beams at Crowley. "Crowley this is Albert Coburg."

"Yeah, hi," Crowley says dismissively. He grabs Aziraphale's hand, thumb rubbing gently over knuckles, "Angel, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

"I'm sorry, dearest." He cupped his husband's cheek. "I figured we could divide and conquer. You know so much more about plants than I. I was confident in your abilities to select just the right one." Aziraphale gave Crowley a quick apologetic peck. "Mr Coburg here was just telling me about his lovely shop. It's been in his family for over fifty years."

"Congratulations on your little miracle. I remember my first like it was yesterday." The elderly man looks off across his shop. A woman in a red apron eagerly helping a customer, the focus of his loving smile. "Most extraordinary moment of my life."

Crowley knew, without needing to ask, that the woman was this man's daughter. Their similarities were undeniable. Where he had been ready to rudely ignore the human before, he was quite fascinated. Here, a man in his later years of life still had his child working alongside him. 'If we could be so lucky.'

"Well if you two will excuse me. You need any help Ma'am don't hesitate to ask." Albert leaves them to attend to a woman grumpily waiting at the register. 

"Such a nice man," Aziraphale says plucking up two rolls of garland. One simple greenery with red ribbon, the other gold beading with white snowflakes and stars. "So what do you fancy? Traditional green and red? Or perhaps something a bit more elegant?"

"Thought we were tree shopping?" Crowley asks selecting the green and red.

Aziraphale pushes the trolley on towards the array of ornaments and baubles. "We will. But we also need decorations for the tree and our home." He turns to his husband. A mischievous grin at the corner of his mouth. 'Since you are here.' “Dearest, would you like to make a wager?"

"What did you have in mind?" Crowley asks with a cocked brow.

"I have here a list. You and I will get as many ornaments that coincide with this list as possible." Aziraphale says, handing his husband a folded bit of paper.

"A scavenger hunt? Really?" He asks indignantly, taking the page. Reading he realizes it is a list of dates. Six thousand years of dates. Each and every moment they had found each other, helped each other. Every turn of events that led them exactly where they were now.

"Do you want to play or not?" Aziraphale grumbles.

"What'ssss my prizzzze?" Crowley hisses, slipping his hand into his angel's coat. Pulling Aziraphale flush against him.

Conscious of their surroundings, Aziraphale doesn't encourage the forward implications of the question. Though he wouldn't mind rewarding his husband in that manner as well. "The winner gets to select the tree topper." He offers, straightening Crowley's scarf.

"You'll have to do better than that," Crowley growls. His angel really didn't, but if they were going to wager, he might as well get something to his liking.

Aziraphale thinks. Searching the shop for an idea. "If you win, you may select the tree topper and…" The answer strikes him. Eyes brightening at his own cleverness, "You may ask anything of me as a testament of my love." Aziraphale, remembering his husband's ability to find loopholes and alternate meanings in every word, clarifies, "Though not dangerous. The Bentley may be the second love of your life, but transporting a tree is hardly life-threatening. But anything that I would generally refuse is yours."

"Anything?" 'Now that's a decent wager. The possibilities.' Crowley grins biting his lip. 

'Good Lord. What have I done?' "Anything. As long as it endangers no one."

Crowley kisses the tip of his angel's nose, "I wouldn't endanger you."

Aziraphale gives Crowley an accusing pout. "No, but you would, yourself. And I know you, dearest. You would call this in to keep me out of harm's way while you charge headlong into danger."

'Hadn't thought about that but yeah. Probably right.' "Fair point. I get to say when I want to use it?" He asks. This prize would need time to be properly considered.

Aziraphale already regretting the offer sighs, "Yes."

"Ok. Deal." He offers his hand. His angel accepts it with confidence. 

"May the best, well...Spouse win." 

They both head into the sea of Christmas trinkets. Crowley darting from one isle to the next. Not a single ornament going without inspection. Aziraphale is pleased to see his husband so intent on winning their little game. Reminding himself Crowley would never intentionally place him in harm's way. Even if that harm was only to his sensibilities.

Along the way, Aziraphale picked up several ornaments, not on the list. Careful to keep them separate. If he were being honest, he fully intended for his husband to win the day.

After thirty minutes, Crowley returns arms and pockets overflowing with his findings. A bright red apple, a little snake, coiled around holly, Noah's ark, two knights, a small gingerbread Jesus with the words "Sweet Jesus" scrawled across a red ribbon. It was all there. In one fashion or another. Even a tiny tartan thermos. Which tugged at Aziraphale's heart. 

He intentionally left off specific dates that were difficult to think on. Though he supposed Crowley had every right to include any aspects of their history, he wished. 

There was one particular ornament Aziraphale was quite impressed with. Crowley had managed to find a clear bauble with strips of paper inside. Around the exterior was a ribbon with William Shakespeare's likeness and Hamlet written in beautiful calligraphy. Upon closer inspection, each bit of paper was part of the seminal play.

Crowley watches as Aziraphale checks both of their selections off the list. Even counting ones he had elected to include. By the end, it was clear he was victorious.

Aziraphale returned the paper to his pocket. Trying to appear put out by the loss. "You have bested me, my love."

Crowley takes his angel's hand, bringing it to his lips. "I will be claiming my prize." His voice sensually dark, with the spoken promise.

Aziraphale can feel his face flush. His husband may be wearing his lensed mask, but he knew well the hungry stare he was being considered with. When he managed to respond, his voice was breathy with his own desires, "So-so, our tree topper?" 'Heavens if we were home.' "What shall it be? Father Christmas? A Star?"

Crowley can't help but smile at his affected angel. He was sure if he pressed the matter, they could be heading home in the Bentley. Engaging in all manner of salacious activities. 

Instead, he looked over to the selection, "Anything but an angel." He scowls at the thought.

Aziraphale scoffs at his husband's impertinence, "Why ever not?" 'Something wrong with angels? You are married to one, dearest.'

"How would you like a tree shoved up your arse?" Crowley growls, sauntering over to the toppers.

Aziraphale cocks a brow at his husband's words. A bit of information dawns on him. "Dearest, you know who those angels are supposed to depict, right?" He questions suppressing a giggle. 

Busy looking over a golden star he doesn't notice his angel's gleeful expression. "No. Who?"

Aziraphale clears his throat and leans in to whisper, "The angel that informed Mary she would conceive Jesus."

Crowley turns to his angel in utter disbelief. 'Gabriel?' "Oh, that's great." He laughs heartily. The image of Gabriel being impaled by a spruce might be the most amusing thing his imagination had ever come up with. 

He snatches a large angel from the top shelf. Resplendent in a silvery dress. Calling to mind that shit-eating grin he miracles the topper to resemble the prat. "Whot do you think?" He asks, showing off his handy work.

"Wily serpent," Aziraphale giggles."I think it's perfect." He takes the angel and adds it to the trolley.

They purchase the lot and load everything into the rear of the Bentley. This time when they enter the evergreen forest Crowley make sure he is, in fact, being followed. He sets to work of rejecting the majority of the proffered trees. Three rows later, he sees it.

A ten-foot Norwegian Spruce stood proudly. Not a needle out of place, not a sparse section to be found, with a delightful mild pine scent to boot. It was perfect by anyone's standards. Crowley turns to see his angel a few yards back. In the excitement of his discovery, he shouts, "Angel!"

Aziraphale turns in a fright. Once he was satisfied that there was no danger lingering about he walks over to his jubilant husband. "Yes, dearest?"

"Look at this one." He says, presenting the tree proudly. Grinning from ear to ear. 

Aziraphale considers the tree. "Crowley it’s magnificent. Isn't it a bit... large?" 

Looking to the pinnacle of the tree, he imagines Gabriel rammed on top. Their lounge’s high vaulted ceilings would more than accommodate the spruce. "It'll fit."

Recognizing his husband’s desire for his approval, he wraps his arms around Crowley’s waist. “I think you found our tree, my love.” Aziraphale gives him a quick peck, "We are going to need more ornaments.”

"Won’t be a problem." Crowley smiles, warmly down on his angel. 'Maybe this Christmas thing won't be so bad.'

Aziraphale hurries over to a stout man wielding a chainsaw. "Hello?"

The large man turns, looking over Aziraphale. Eyes lingering a bit too long on the ample swell of his breasts. "Need elp love?" He asks in a gravelled bassy tone. 

Aziraphale was almost staggered by the smell of stale cigarettes and alcohol that emanated from the man's person. "Yes, we would like to purchase that tree." He says, pointing in the direction of his husband.

"A'right." He smiles a battered toothy grin. Teeth yellow with years of poor hygiene. "Give us a minute, love. I'll take good care of ya." 

"Thank you," Aziraphale says politely. Turning to lead the man to the identified conifer. 

"No problem beautiful." He grunts. Eyes greedily watching Aziraphale.

Crowley missed nothing of the exchange. His angel might be oblivious to the lummox's intentions, but he wasn't. "Dove?" He calls sweetly to Aziraphale.

"Yes, dearest?" Aziraphale smiles, eyes twinkling with affection.

Crowley pulls his angel into him. A hand at the small of Aziraphale's back. Without a moment's hesitation, he seals their lips in a passionate kiss. Sure it was a bit much for public scrutiny, but he wanted this ogre to know this one was off the market.

The man did not appear to be deterred by the display. He approaches the couple, beady eyes all the more ravenous. Crowley seeing an opportunity releases the tree just as the boorish man was near enough. 

It topples directly into the clod leaving little time to react. Crowley is rewarded for his apt timing as the tree connects with the bulbous balding head. Causing the man to stumble back, clutching his brow. 

Aziraphale pulls away at the sound of the man's pained grunts, "Sir, are you alright?"

"Yea. Fine. I'll be get'n this a fresh cut for ya." The beast and his wounded pride lumber off with the tree. 

His angel gives him a questioning glare. To which he feigns complete innocence, "What? S'not my fault you are so distracting." ‘Teach the shit to keep his eyes where they belong.’

The tree is prepared. Net securing the boughs to protect it from damage in transport. Crowley is about to load it onto his precious Bently when a gruff voice hollers, "Ey, ur not gonna put that on ur fancy car now are ya?"

Between the brute’s lust and now stupidity Crowley lost all patience. "How else am I supposed to get it home?" He snarls. 

"We delivea." The man says, jabbing a finger towards a sign with bold, obvious text one would have to be an idiot to miss. 

Both Crowley and Aziraphale read ‘$10 home delivery within the county limits.’ Aziraphale smiles to his annoyed husband, “Well, isn’t that convenient.” 

4:18 pm  
The Cottage

Crowley didn’t like the idea, not in the least that “Donny” ‘the wanker’ was their delivery man. He had seen into his lecherous head. And though the thoughts there weren’t so dissimilar from most men’s, the fact that this human considered his angel in any regard was enough. 

He parked in their garage, immediately closing the door behind them. It wasn’t so much a sense of jealousy that had him seething. Crowley knew he needn’t worry on that regard. He merely wanted to protect his angel from the cretin’s advances. Aziraphale may no longer be innocent to carnal pleasures, but Crowley was reasonably certain his angel wouldn’t like being the focus of this human’s lascivious musings. 

Right. You head inside, and I’ll get the tree.” Crowley says, grabbing several bags from the back.

Aziraphale takes the satchels from his husband. “Thank you for today, darling. I know it is not something you particularly enjoyed. But it is very much appreciated.”

“Wasn’t so bad,” Crowley grumbles. “Wouldn’t mind doing it again next year. Kid’ll enjoy it.”

Aziraphale scoots closer, resting his chin on his husband’s shoulder. “Anthony J Crowley. I can’t begin to tell you how much I love you.”

“Yeah well, feeling’s mutual, dove." He says, kissing his angel's forehead. 

They go their separate ways, Crowley heading outside to deal with the grotesque human. Aziraphale unpacking their quarry. In no time at all, the Bentley was empty. Bags littering every surface of their kitchen. He was filling the kettle for tea when he realized his husband had yet to come back inside. 

Shutting off the faucet, Aziraphale walks into their lounge to make sure he wasn't mistaken. The house was empty save for himself. Though their front door sat open. He wandered outside to see what had detained his husband. Standing next to the flatbed lorry with their tree was Donny, flicking a cigarette butt across their lawn. 

Aziraphale considered admonishing the large man for his crude disposal, but something about the human made him uneasy. Scanning their property Aziraphale sees no sign of Crowley anywhere. ‘Surely he couldn’t have gone far.’ He walks up to Donny with a pleasant smile, "Excuse me, do you know where my husband might be?"

The broad man leans against the truck, smirking at the clearly pregnant owner of the house. "Yea. Some friends of his showed up. They headed round back."

"Friends?" Aziraphale’s mind instantly went to Beelzebub or the little demon who had followed them home. ‘He could be in danger.’

Donny shifts closer to the pretty blonde, eyeing all of Aziraphale's finer assets. The pregnancy does nothing to deter his interest. "Yea, young couple. Called the one noob or somfen. Drove a free-wheeled hunk of shite."

"Newt?" Aziraphale looks to the crass man in puzzlement. 

He snaps his fingers in agreement, "Yea, fink tha's it."

Questions answered Aziraphale is all too ready to depart the odious human. "Thank you. I should go say hello." He starts to turn to leave only to have a massive arm thrust in his path. 

"Where's the fire love? We could wait ere for em. Get to know each ofa betta." Donny says, blocking the Aziraphale’s retreat. As far as he was concerned, the husband didn’t seem much of a threat. 

Not wanting a confrontation Aziraphale steps back, intending to walk around the mountain of a man. "No, I really should be…" Donny uses his considerable heft to block Aziraphale’s path once more. ‘I don’t want to have to hurt you human. Where is Crowley?’

He flashes a putrid yellow grin at the wife, "Pretty bird like you. Could fink of so many fings we could talk bout. Ca'mon I wun't tell. Be our lial secret." 

Aziraphale flushes scarlet with anger, standing rigid with contempt. ‘The actual nerve of you. "I don't know what secret you are implying. But I am not interested. You will leave my property this instant." Aziraphale glares down Donny. 

He ignores what he assumes is blustering. Though he imagines even as heavy with child as the apparent woman is he could expect a decent fight. "Well, I see pleny that interests me." He grabs Aziraphale's forearm attempting to pull him closer. 

Aziraphale smacks the man square across the face, to no avail. Donny holding his arm bruisingly tight. He begins to struggle to free himself, "UNHAND ME YOU…"

Donny grabs Aziraphale’s other arm, shoving him against the lorry. "Dun't be like that. I know whot ya want."

‘I have never killed another living soul. Do not force me to change that.’ Aziraphale fixes the man with the most threatening glare he could, "What I want is you to leave my home this instant!"

The ox laughs, “C’mon give Big Donny a kiss.” He leans in, breathing his foul breath in Aziraphale’s face.

Panic, rage, and disgust rips through Aziraphale’s mind. "NO!" Suddenly he is free. The human vanished to parts unknown. Aziraphale staggering to remain on his feet. ‘Oh, no. Oh no, what have I done? Oh, God.’

"AZIRAPHALE!" Crowley shouts sprinting towards his angel. Aziraphale’s panic burning in him like that day at the bookshop. Without slowing, he gathers his angel into his arms. Face buried in silken curls. ‘You’re alright. Thank fucking God you are both alright.’

He clung to his husband, hands still trembling. "Crowley, dearest. I am so sorry. I know we agreed no miracles but…"

Crowley holds his angel all the tighter, "I don't care. I don't care.” He releases Aziraphale only to cup his angel’s cheeks. Quickly brushing stray ringlets away from panicked eyes. “What happened?"

"That human. Crowley...he…" Aziraphale couldn’t look at his husband. It wasn’t shame over the man’s behaviour, but for breaking their rule. A rule meant to keep their family safe. 

‘Fucking manky pile of shit.’ "Where issss the human?" he hisses with malice.

"I have no idea.” Aziraphale whimpers. “I sent him elsewhere.”

Crowley tries to calm himself. His angel was already shaken, he didn’t need to add to Aziraphale’s destress. "I need to know what happened, dove."

He meets his husband’s tender golden eyes. "I told him to leave. He got...handsy.” 

‘I will fucking see him in the deepest pits of Hell!’ “If I ever see his poxy face again I will…” 

Aziraphale stops his husband with a kiss. Feeling Crowley slowly relax against him. When he was sure, the worst of his demon’s wrath had abated he pulls away, "No, my love. I don't think that will be necessary. But I appreciate your concern."

“I told him to leave. Should have made sure. Sorry, dove." Crowley caresses his angel’s arms. ‘Should have just tied the damn tree to my car like you said.’

They are interrupted by the sound of quickly moving feet crunching through the lawn. Anathema and Newt panting as they came to a stop. "Jesus, you're fast." she rests against the lorry’s bonnet. “Is everything alright?”

Newt leans forward, hands on his knees. Coughing attempting to catch his breath, "I hate running. My legs are on fire."

"Anathema, Newton, what a pleasant surprise," Aziraphale greets the exhausted pair. "I am alright. Just a bit of a kerfuffle with a crude human." He smiles, sweetly. "What brings you two to our cottage?"

'Fuck.' Crowley stiffens, shifting away from Aziraphale, "I called them this morning."

"Oh? You didn't mention this." Aziraphale looks at his husband in confusion. 'Something is afoot. You only communicate with Anathema with news of our baby, or concerns about my well-being. What are you playing at?'

"Yea… wh-while you were getting r-ready." Crowley stammers. He didn't want to lie, but he couldn't reveal his plans either. So he settled on a vague truth he hoped would satisfy his angel’s question.

Anathema interjects giving Crowley a look the demon knew meant he owed her. "Well since we are going to be here for the Holiday we figured we could do our part and pitch in."

'You are all conspiring. Fine, have your little intrigue. I will just have to puzzle it out.' "Oh, wonderful. And your mother, Newton? I do hope she will be joining us."

"She will." Newton pants, the only one still struggling to recuperate. "Mum is excited to meet you."

Aziraphale takes his husband's arm. "We look forward to meeting her, as well. Don't we, dearest?" 

Crowley knew he better not push it with the witch holding such delicate information. "Yeah, thrilled." He clears his throat of what he really wanted to say. "Newt help us with the tree, would you?" Newt straightens, looking still in pain, but assists Crowley all the same. 

They all file into the house. Aziraphale watching the conspirators closely for any clues as to their schemes. Newton looking to be the easiest to pry information from, but the boy was probably threatened with some terrible reproductions to insure a tight lip. 

Aziraphale brought Anathema into the kitchen. She might have more resilience than Newton, but she didn’t seem the type to be bullied into silence either. "Well, we could start by getting all of these ornaments prepared for the tree. Or work to spruce up the rest of the cottage." He offers in his typical cordial tone. "I wish I would have known you two were coming. I would have prepared something."

"It's fine. Newt's mother is coming over for dinner to meet my mom." She says peeking into a bag of lights. "It won’t take those two long to get the tree up. Let's start with the ornaments."

Aziraphale nods handing Anathema a parcel of hooks. They set to work preparing each trimming. "I'm surprised Crowley called you for assistance. He wasn't too keen on the whole notion this morning."

Anathema senses the trap that was laid before her. Aziraphale maybe her favourite among the two but she wouldn’t betray the demon’s confidence. "Perhaps he changed his mind." Her tone utterly apathetic as she secured the wire hook to a glittering bauble.

"Where did you park? I didn't see Newton's car." Aziraphale inquires further, eyeing the newly taciturn witch.

"Around back. Didn’t want to get in the way of the delivery truck.” Anathema offers the ambiguous answer. The fact that they were outside the guest cottage might send Aziraphale snooping where he ought not to. 

He was about to interrogate his friend further when a heavy crash sounded from their lounge. 

Crowley roars, “Useless piece of maggoty shite!”

Anathema and Aziraphale hurry into the next room. Crowley was righting the tree grumbling a list of profanities under his breath. Newton was standing still as if any sudden movement would anger the already furious demon further. 

"Is everything alright, dearest?" Aziraphale calls out to his husband. Who, was still arguing with the evergreen. 

Crowley snaps his fingers gesturing for Newt to grab the tree. The young man does so as if Crowley had threatened to devour him whole. "Yep. Great. Can't get the bloody overpriced match stick to stay in the stand." Crowley stoops to adjust the bolts. 

"Is there anything I can do to assist you?” Aziraphale asks sweetly. 

"Nah, I've got it." He makes one last correction before standing. "There. Let it go Newt."

Everyone holds their breath, especially Newt as he releases the tree. It gives a bit of a wobble but remains standing. “Oh, thank God.” Newton sighs in relief. 

"It's crooked," Anathema says curtly.

“Itsn’t,” Crowley asserts, walking over to his angel’s side. Serpent eyes assessing his work. “Damn. It is.” he groans his frustrations through grit teeth. 

Aziraphale rubs his husband’s back, “It’s fine, dearest. I am sure it will look better once it is decorated.”

A brilliant idea strikes him. ‘I may have to worry about using my powers, but you don’t’ Crowley throws his arm over Aziraphale’s shoulder, “Angel, do us a favour.” 

Leery of his husband’s intentions Aziraphale regards him with suspicion, “Whatever do you want?” 

“Give us a miracle.” He says, dismissively waving his hand at the tree.

Aziraphale looks at their poor listing spruce, then back to his husband in alarm. “Crowley, that was unintended earlier. I don’t want to compromise our location any further than I already have.” 

“Well...I don’t think we have to worry about your side anymore,” He says casually.

Aziraphale pulls away. Never in all his years had he ever been so offended by being associated with Heaven. ‘Just because they aren’t actively trying to destroy me, doesn’t mean I am their creature anymore.’ “They are not my side,” he pouts. 

Crowley regrets his words the moment they left his mouth. Even more so when he sees his angel’s reaction. “Sorry, dove. Didn't mean it like that." He takes Aziraphale’s hand, thumb brushing over the little coiled serpent. "But I doubt Heaven will want to go against Her orders.” 

‘You are probably right. It would be nice to not have to do everything manually anymore.’ “Are you...are you certain?” 

“Please. I’ll beg if you want me to.” ‘The witch will never let me live that down.’ 

"Alright. Might as well make it count." Aziraphale snaps. Their cottage is instantly transformed into a Christmas wonderland. The tree twinkling with lights. Ornaments precisely hung. Garland, trinkets, and all the essential trappings of the season scattered about the cottage. Electric candles, Aziraphale knew his husband would insist upon, interspersed amongst the decorative arrangements. It was precisely as Aziraphale had hoped.

They all looked about the room in awe. Anathema found everything charming. Newton, startled by the abrupt transformation, stood gaping as if he had been transported to Santa’s workshop. What Crowley imagined was still a few years in the making. “Not bad, dove,” he says, kissing his angel’s temple.

Anathema marches up to the tree, “Somebody has been watching Hallmark.”

Aziraphale looks at her in confusion, “Hallmark? What do goldsmiths have to do with anything?”

Crowley chuckles. That was one of many things he didn’t miss from his time serving as a nanny for the Dowlings. The American woman was obsessed with the tedious channel. Especially around the Holidays. ‘That’ll be one modern bit of programming you will never see.’

Newt joins his girlfriend. He inspects a little oyster shell complete with pearl, hanging at eye level, "These are all so peculiar. Do they have any significance?"  
"Yes. That one is for our first date. Rome, 40 AD." Crowley informs the nosy human.

“Date?” Aziraphale asks in surprise. 

“Well, that wasn’t a term they used back in those days. But it was our first meal together.” Crowley says, feeling a bit embarrassed by his assumption.

“It…” Aziraphale recalls that day. He already had such a profound love for his then friend. Looking back, he had secretly wanted their relationship to be so much more. The oysters just an excuse to prolong their time together. “I suppose it was.” He smiles, fondly on the memory. “We had oysters. Got completely sloshed as I recall. We ended up on some temple roof.”

“Jupiter’s,” Crowley says with a haughty grin. 

“Yes. It was a lovely evening.” 

Anathema points to another ornament. A little stack of books hanging by a red ribbon. "And this one?"

Aziraphale steps closer to see what the young woman was pointing to. "Oh. Crowley protected my books. Some awful business with Nazi spies. I was very grateful." ‘He was so dashing.’

Newt points to a little puffy cloud with blue crystals hanging from it, just to the left of the books. “A rain cloud?”

"Eden,” Crowley answers leaning against the wall. “We stood in the first rains that fell on earth." 

"This is cute." Anathema gently brushes the tulle of a tiny ballerina’s tutu. 

"The Nutcracker. One of my favourite ballets. I was there for the very first performance. St. Petersburg, 1893.” Aziraphale’s joy fades. He glances at his husband briefly before turning back to their witch. “Though I only picked it up for its association with the holiday.”

Anathema didn’t miss the change in the angel’s expression. A haunting sorrow weakly veiled behind Aziraphale’s polite demeanour. Crowley saw it as well. He, unlike the human, knew the cause. 

Eyes regarded him from all sides. The air around in their lounge was tense with words he would rather be left unsaid. ‘It is in the past, and I only have myself to blame.’ Aziraphale brushes aside his melancholy. This was no time for glum thoughts. He turns to his husband, "There is one last thing I need your help with, Crowley."

"Whot?” he asks, shooting off the wall. 

Aziraphale disappears into the kitchen and returns with the altered tree topper. Holding the angel up to his husband, he gives it a little shake. Tiny bells tinkling merrily. “I seemed to have forgotten something.”

Crowley barks a laugh and takes Gabriel’s stand-in from his angel. "It will be my pleasure." He pulls a chair in from their breakfast table. Positioning it next to the grand tree. He stands precariously on either arm, as he rams the topper firmly into place. Hoping somewhere in the bowels of Hell the former Archangel felt the intrusion. 

Newton stares up at the very masculine face of the otherwise feminine angel. "Isn't that, the man from the airbase?"

"What an astute observation." Crowley mockingly praises the young man. 

Anathema ignores the demon’s rudeness. She takes Newt’s hand and addresses Aziraphale, "Well, if you don't need our help with anything else we need to be going."

He gives their human friends a little bow, "Thank you for all your assistance. I can’t wait to have everyone here for our little party.”

Aziraphale escorts them to the door, offering to see them on to their car. To which both Anathema and Crowley reject in unison. He hadn’t yet gained any leads as to what great secret his husband was keeping from him. But he wasn’t about to abandon his investigation so easily. 

By the time they were alone, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. The moon taking its place in the eastern sky. All was calm once again in their little paradise. Aziraphale leans into his husband with a heavy sigh, “Long day.” 

Crowley tilts his angel’s chin up to better peer into dazzling sapphire eyes. "What do you say to decent carryout, a good book, and a quiet evening in front of the fire?"

Aziraphale wraps his arms around his clever husband’s neck. "I'd say you are reading my mind, dearest."

1:27 pm  
Ilha da Queimada Grande

Of the coast of Brazil is a small island. This is not an island one would typically find on a travel brochure. As a matter of fact, the only humans to ever venture near the diminutive patch of land is the Brazilian navy or scientists. Which, is seldom as the island is home to over three thousand venomous Bothrops insularises. Also known as the golden lancehead pit viper. Earning the location the moniker of Snake Island. 

It is here a rather unscrupulous man has been deposited. After one particularly ill-advised attempt at forcing himself on a pregnant angel. Currently, Big Donny as he likes to be called, is running for his life. Snakes, as it seems, do not take kindly to being disturbed. 

Sure Big Donny could try his luck by swimming to the mainland. This choice, however, is also ill-advised. It is a lengthy swim, and the waters are teeming with voracious sharks. Though the main issue being Big Donny doesn’t know how to swim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	29. Tell Me Your Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yoga, Dr Frances, Antichrist, Plans, and smut. 
> 
> (Sorry this was a bit delayed. The next chapter was stealing my focus, but it will be fun. Damn writer's block.)

Wednesday 11 December 2019  
10:00 am  
Lotus Bliss Yoga Studio

Aziraphale and Crowley stood in the corner of a sparse white room, though not nearly as sparse as Heaven. The air was a bit musty, the floors dark hardwood, instead of polished marble. Visibly pregnant women milling about chattering to one another. Voices echoing, made all the louder by the incredible, be in unwelcome acoustics of the space. 

Aziraphale, after much protest, had been coerced into blue leggings with a supportive belly band, white sports bra, and tank top. His husband had surprised him with the outfit only moments before they were meant to leave. They had agreed to yoga, but he hadn’t known he would be expected to go cavorting about in such revealing clothing. To lessen his discomfort with the form-fitting ensemble, he elected to wear his oversised cable knit jumper. Though these days it was less oversised around the middle. 

Crowley was far more comfortable in the prescribed yoga attire. Black leggings clinging to every lean angle of his lower body. His own loose-fitting tank providing some modesty to his more apparent masculine expression. Sunglasses in place to not startle the flock of clucking hens. Some of which regarded the solitary man amongst them with wanton eyes. He had considered scaring them off but decided there was no harm in looking. 

Aziraphale shifts uncomfortably. Desperately trying to pull the jumper farther over his hips. "Tell me why on Earth we are doing this again? I look ridiculous." 

Smiling down at his pouting angel, Crowley can’t help but appreciate the way the leggings give him an almost unobstructed view of Aziraphale’s plump thighs. "I don't know angel. Yoga pants look adorable on you." ‘You are so beautiful in anything.’ 

Scoffing at his husband, he rolls his eyes, "You have to say that because we are married." 

Crowley backs his angel more into the corner, so as to avoid unwanted prying eyes. Slipping a hand under the jumper to the tempting swell of his angel’s bottom. He purrs low into his angel’s ear, "No, I get to say that because it's true. You, dove, are pure temptation.” His hand searching lower, as a little swell of desire rolls into him. ‘We both agree to give it a go. I'm going to be helpless to only watch you when our kid decides to make their grand entrance. You are going to have everything that might make it easier. Even this yoga nonsense.' “You might want to take off the jumper, dove." As he attempts to lift the sweater, it is wrenched free from his hand. 

"No! I feel…naked." Naked whispered so only his husband could hear. Pouting at the floor, he considers miracling his typical clothing on. ‘Acceptable dress be damned.’

Crowley takes his angel’s hand and draws it to his mouth. Pausing to pull the ludicrously long sleeve away from Aziraphale’s knuckles. "You're not naked. You are divine perfection.” Peering over his sunglasses, he locks serpent eyes with blue. 

The sound of his husband’s seductive voice, the look of raw desire in his golden eyes, and the tenderness of his words have Aziraphale nearly swooning. ‘Lord, help me. It is shameful how much I want you.’ He swallowed past his desire. "Th-this hard...hardly counts as-as clothing. You can practically see everything."

Crowley pulls his angel into his arms, turning them to look over the humans. He rests his chin on Aziraphale's shoulder whispering, voice low and enticing, "Look around. Everyone else is wearing the same thing."

Aziraphale leans into the hold, heart hammering in his corporation. ‘It is not fair to tempt me in public, darling.’ "I am not everyone else." 

“That we agree on. You are like nothing else in all Her creation.” Crowley brushes his lips against his angel's ear. Desire flowing freely into him now. He presses a kiss to a sensitive spot on Aziraphale's neck. Drawing back to whisper, "You are my fussy angel."

Aziraphale forces himself to remember where they were. They were not home, nor the Bentley, or any other place that would be appropriate to sate the fires that his husband so easily stokes. He may not have Crowley's gift for so easily sensing the other's feelings, but their closeness told him he was not alone in his want. Aziraphale shielded them from the human's notice. 'Take me home. By Her mercy take me home.' Gripping his husband's lean arms to steady himself. 'I need you.'

"Namaste." Came an airy voice. The room around them stilled. All chatter ceasing instantly. Everyone turns to the woman taking position at the far end of the room. Each greeting her with the same gesture she had offered. 

Crowley releases his angel. Snaking around to Aziraphale's side, "later dove, I promise." He presses a gentle kiss to flushed cheek, sealing the vow. Slowly he guides them to the purple mats laid out for the class. Ignoring the little displeased groan his angel made behind him.

"Welcome all newcomers. Please take your places.” the young woman instructs, arms held out to the space before her. All in attendance comply in silence. Crowley and Aziraphale choosing the mats farthest from their instructor. Though the former quickly draws the woman's attention. "Sir, this class is for expectant mothers only."

Though Crowley made no attempt to rise, Aziraphale grabs his arm. Eyes stern with a subtle glint of fear. "Don't you dare leave me."

'Like I would.' "Uhhhh...M'wife's shy. Wants me to stay. If it's all the same to you." He hopes this human will be reasonable. Of course, she wasn't.

Their instructor walks to him as if she meant to escort him out from the studio. "This is strictly a safe, calming space for expectant mothers. You will have to…"

Before the woman could utter another word, Aziraphale took his husband's hand. "We are leaving."

Crowley snaps and the room stills. The young instructor staring blankly into the distance. "Now lisssten to me. I am going to ssstay. You will ignore the fact that I appear male. And get on with the...whatever it issss you do. Undersssstand?" He hisses in annoyance. 'Aziraphale needs this. You'll have to resurrect the fucking Warrens to make me leave.'

"Yes." She answers flatly. 

Ignoring the disapproving glare to his right, he sneers at the dazed woman. "Great. As you were." He says dismissively, snapping again to release the studio of his influence. 

The woman blinks up at him. Her train of thought seems to have failed her. “Where was I? Oh, yes!" She turns back to the class at large. "My name is Summer Llewellyn." She smiles sweetly. "Prenatal yoga can help you physically, emotionally, and spiritually through the wonderful journey of pregnancy.” Retaking her place at the head of the room, “If you incorporate these techniques into your daily life, you will feel less of the pain and discomfort mothers experience as your body changes. You may find that you will have more focus and a gentler delivery as well."

Crowley chuckles at the woman's sales pitch. 'There here human. No need to lay it on so thick.' Leaning into his angel, he whispers, "You hear that, dove. This'll fix evrythin."

“I highly doubt that.” Aziraphale grumbles, tugging at his jumper.

“Whot? Do you not have faith in Missss Llewellyn'ssss sssskillssss?” he hisses playfully in his angel's ear. Earning him a gentle shove of irritation.

“Excuse me?” Summer says drawing the room's attention to them once more. Everyone glaring at the interruption.

Rolling his eyes, Crowley doesn't hesitate to snap once more. Again the room goes still. “Insufferable humans. You will all ignore any conversation, noise, or unacceptable behaviour Aziraphale or I may have during your...class.” Before Aziraphale could protest his actions, he releases the humans. Everyone confused as to what caused them to look at the odd pair at the back of the room.

Summer shook the strange fog out of her mind. Lowering herself to the mat, she encourages the others to follow suit. “We are going to start with our floor exercises. This portion will open up your hips. Strengthen your spine. Increase flexibility. And prepare your body for the demands of labour.” She says, closing her eyes in some form of prayer.

Aziraphale sat grumpily, “Crowley, I am giving this ten minutes.” 'This is a complete load of rubbish.'

'Fussy. You can give it a go at least. Can't hurt to try.' “Fine. Say the word, and we leave. But your doctor did recommend this."

“And please, if you feel discomfort at any moment, take a break. It is important to listen to your body.” Summer says as she sits on her heels. Hands coming to rest on her chest and abdomen. "We are going to focus our breathing. Find your heart. Feel your baby. Feel the beautiful connection that binds you together." The class follows her example.

They too situate themselves as directed. Crowley glancing over at his angel. “What is your body saying, dove?” he asks mocking Summer's insipid tone.

Aziraphale glares at his husband, 'there is no need for your antics.' “That I would rather be elsewhere.”

Summer guides them through the first phase of the instruction. Crowley fidgeting after a short time. Growing bored of the redundant encouragement to breathe.

Finally, Summer came up to her hands and knees, the class following. “Sit back into child’s pose. Knees open wide. Make room for baby. Press your palms and forehead into the earth. Make sure your tummy and hips are relaxed. Breathe in slowly and exhale slowly.” she demonstrates the pose. Watching as the women make the adjustment. “Good everyone.”

Just as Aziraphale was ready to demand an end to their participation, he feels relief in his lower body. Hips easing into a delicious stretch. Back relaxing as it hadn't since the constant ache set in. One ankle giving a satisfying pop as he fully gives himself over to the pose. "That feels wonderful," He sighs as the tense muscles of his corporation gently release. 

Summer guides them slowly through a series of yoga positions. Crowley proves to be quite the natural. Contorting himself effortlessly into even the most difficult positions with relative ease. For Aziraphale, the whole experience was a bit more challenging. Though, as he relaxed and allowed himself to become comfortable, he found most of the poses, the effervescent young woman demonstrates, pleasant. Anahatasana the one he was most reluctant to transition from. It alleviates a pesky spot in his back that had been near impossible to manage over the past few weeks.

By the end, Aziraphale had indeed shed his jumper. As it proved more of a hindrance than an effective modesty cover. Several times he caught his husband regarding him with a sly grin. Each time when he was in a compromising position. 

As they made their way to the Bentley, Crowley threw his arm around his angel's shoulders, looking very pleased with himself. Opening the passenger door, he asks, "So? Whotid you think?"

Aziraphale took the oversised cable knit from his husband, with a bit of a pout, "I think you are far better at that than me." 

Crowley shrugs, "Snake."

Aziraphale gave his corporation a quick assessment. His back was remarkably better, joints felt less sore, even his shoulders and hips didn’t seem as bothersome. ‘Perhaps there is something to this yoga business.’ "I do feel… less achy. Especially my hips." He gives them a little sway.

“Good,” Crowley says as Aziraphale slipped into the passenger seat. He bows, planting a quick peck on his angel’s lips, "Might have to use some of those poses for later." A little smirk played at the corner of his mouth. 

"Wily serpent," Aziraphale scolds, as two women pass by. He wasn’t sure if they heard, or could glean his husband’s meaning, but the thought of having others know what they got up to was not something Aziraphale was in want to have happen. 

"Whot?” he asks with feigned indignation. “You can align your chakrassss." Crowley hisses dramatically. He hurriedly shuts the door before his angel could admonish him further. Darting around to the driver’s side. Enjoying the freedom his current attire afforded. 

Aziraphale settles into the Bentley. His own coy grin slowly spreading over his lips. As his husband starts the loyal car, a hand comes to rest high on lithe thigh. "Perhaps we just might."

Queen's Misfire bursting from the speakers as they drive towards London.

12:00 pm  
Divinity Obstetrics and Gynaecology

Aziraphale was perched on the edge of the exam bed in Dr Frances’s office. Legs dangling as primly as he could manage. Agnes had already seen to her portion of the visit, as stern and stony-eyed as ever. She left to fetch the doctor, near on thirty minutes ago. 

Crowley sat at his angel’s side, examining a female reproductive anatomy model. Sneering as he turns it over in his hand to view it from all angles. “So complicated.”

“What was that, dearest?” Aziraphale asks drawn from the daydream of Christmas possibilities.

“I said. Female anatomy. It’so complicated.” he thrusts the model towards his angel for consideration. 

'Lord, is that what is inside me?' He studies the intricate organs on display. “Well, I suppose creating a new life is a complicated matter. Calls for complicated...equipment.”

“Suppose.” he agrees, getting up to return the model to the counter. Crowley’s pocket suddenly vibrates, causing him to drop the figure. He rights it, only to realise the left ovary had snapped off and skittered across the room. 

One quick miracle from Aziraphale restores it to pristine condition. "Dearest, do be careful."

Crowley shrugs, "Not really what I am known for." Withdrawing his phone, he reads the text quickly. Without looking up, he returns the phone to his pocket, “You mind us popping over to Tadfield today? Antichrist said we can meet up when he gets home from school.” 

Aziraphale gives Crowley a knowing smile. 'You have such a kind heart. I doubt you even see it that way.' “It is very admirable what you are doing for the boy, dearest.”

Crowley sneers at the praise, taking up his usual position. “S’not his fault, his father is a twat. Who else can he ask?” he stares at the floor. 'I will be a better father. Well, that bar is set fairly low. I want to be a father they can be proud of. There for everything. God, please help me be a good father for them. Even if I am a demon. I want to be good for them.'

Aziraphale sees the worry his husband is trying to hide. 'You are nothing like Satan, my love.' "Still. It's wonderful of you to step in." Lifting Crowley's chin, he seals their lips. 

Love and warmth flood into him. Driving back the ever-present void that coils in his essence. The weight of his angel's unconstrained affection and faith staggers his mind. Crowley returns the kiss. Thankful for anything to keep him tethered to this world. 'Make me worthy of this.'

The door opens with the sharp clack of the knob turning. Aziraphale quickly pulls away. Blushing bright scarlet at their doctor discovering their intimate exchange. He sits rigidly on the table as if declaring nothing untoward had occurred.

“Mrs Crowley." Dr Frances smiles at Aziraphale's obvious embarrassment. "You are looking very well today.”

He wasn't sure if the statement was in jest, but he reasons politeness was always the best course of action. “Thank you, doctor." 

Dr Frances nods to the father, who appears as if embarrassment was the farthest thing from his mind, “Mr Crowley, how are you today?”

“Splendid,” He grins wickedly. 

Dr Frances suppresses a laugh at the juxtaposition of the pair. She quickly looks over the clipboard before washing and gloving her hands. “Mrs Crowley, your test results are beautiful as always. Precisely what I like to see.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Aziraphale beams at the compliment. His embarrassment ebbing away almost instantly. Uncertain if his angelic nature, God's intervention, or their diligence should take the credit.

“Any complications? Unusual pain, bleeding, cramping?” Dr Frances asks sitting on her stool. Pulling the ultrasound machine to her side.

"Besides a bit of back pain and the occasional dizzy spell, I am doing quite well. I don’t miss the nausea, let me tell you. Nothing out of the ordinary." Aziraphale informs. He lights up with excitement to announce to Dr Frances that they had followed her advice."We tried yoga today."

She sits back on her stool, appraising her patient, "Did you? How was it?"

"I feel quite limber." Aziraphale gives a little cheerful wiggle. "I wasn't sold on the notion when we first arrived. These clothes are a bit revealing for my tastes. However, I was pleasantly surprised. You should have seen my husband. Took to it like a...what is the expression?"

"Duck to water." Crowley assists. 'Why are there so many sayings about bloody ducks? I should get Aziraphale ducks for our cottage.' 

Dr Frances takes the wand and gel in hand, “I'm glad it helped. Alright, lie back and well get to it.”

Aziraphale readily complies. Pulling down the belly band of the pants. Which, he was growing to appreciate as well. Working the cool gel over the swell of her patient's belly, Dr Frances begins searching for their little one.

“There we are.” She says as their baby comes into view. With a slight adjustment, there is a little fluttering in the centre of the image. “ Their little heart. Nice and strong." Dr Frances makes a few clicks and the whirring rhythm echoes in the silent room. Both parents stare, enraptured by the figure on the screen. 

She slides the transducer until the full length of their child is clearly visible. Freezing the image, Dr Frances measures from the crown of their head to their bottom. “13 centimetres. Perfect. Now, let's get a better look at you.”

"Doctor?" Crowley asks quickly.

"Yes, Mr Crowley?" She pauses, hand hovering over the keyboard. 

"I know we'll get a picture of them later. But can I have that one too?" He asks, pointing at their child's profile. 

Frances nods. She looks to Aziraphale with a warm smile, "He's very eager to be a father, isn't he?"

"I don't think I have ever seen him happier." He admits, giving his husband's hand a little squeeze. 

Dr Frances goes back to the task at hand. The monitor floods with beige as it had during their previous visit. Small happy features coming into focus. Tiny hands resting on either cheek. Dr Frances quickly captures a still before their little smile disappears. Knowing the pair would appreciate the rare photo. "Very photogenic your little one."

Crowley knew from the books their baby could perform such a feat. But his corporation's heart was no less affected by the image of their baby. "They are smiling." He breathes in wonder. 

"They are. Lucky to have caught it." Dr Frances agrees. "Nice one for your collection Mr Crowley."

Aziraphale realises then his husband had in fact been collecting the photos. Once they had been shared, they were discreetly tucked away. 'Souvenirs. I wonder where you keep them?'

Dr Frances graciously takes several more pictures of their baby. Careful to avoid revealing their gender. She even allows them to watch for a time as their tiny fingers open and close. 

Though he felt the urge, Crowley was determined not to cry. He was sure their witch was still placing wagers on his lack of constitution. Now, probably including her mother in addition to Newt. She would have to find alternate means of lining her pockets this day.

Dr Frances shut off the monitor. Quickly cleaning Aziraphale's belly. Taking measurements of his growing bump, before assisting him up. “Alright." She says, removing her gloves. "Your baby is developing beautifully. Everything is right on track.” She makes several notations before turning back to the pair. Tapping her pen on the counter in contemplation. “Mrs Crowley, we haven’t discussed where you will be delivering. Have you two come to any decisions?”

“Yes, doctor. We will be having our child at home.” Aziraphale says confidently, hand caressing his now reclothed belly. 

Dr Frances looks over the papers. Scowling as she studies the information currently available. When at last, her attention is on Aziraphale she sighs “It wouldn’t be my first recommendation." Leaning against the counter, she assesses her patient, "But your pregnancy is going smoothly. And there doesn’t currently appear to be any complications that would make it dangerous. Have you selected a midwife?”

Undeterred by their doctor's hesitance, Azirphale takes his husband's hand. “Yes, our friend’s mother has agreed to do the honours.”

Dr Frances nods, acknowledging the parent's wishes. “Well, as long as everything continues on the current path, you should be able to. But if there are any complications, I don’t want you to risk yourself or your child’s life. Where is the nearest hospital to you?”

Crowley works the trip through his mind. One thing the country was sorely lacking were hospitals. “More than thirty kilometres.” 'Can make it there in five minutes with no traffic. Aziraphale wouldn't like it much.'

“It is a risk. Every minute counts if something were to go wrong.” Dr Frances concludes. 

'It is for the best. We have no idea what may happen. Humans ask far too many questions.' “We understand, doctor,” Aziraphale says, adjusting his jumper just so. 

Sensing the mother would not be swayed; she gathers the clipboard in hand. “I would like to revisit this as we near your due date." She says, tucking her pen into her coat pocket.

'I will not be changing my mind.' "Of course, doctor." Aziraphale smiles, politely pulling on his cream coat.

"Perhaps sit down with your midwife and come up with a solid plan should you need to go to hospital. And if you wouldn't mind bringing in your birth plan so we can review it together."

Smiling to his husband, "We are actually going by there this afternoon. Dearest, would you?" 

Phone at the ready, he texts Anathema. Informing them of the doctor's orders. "Taken care of." 

Satisfied that her patient is at the least appearing to take her seriously, she heads for the door. "See you two in two weeks."

Agnes returns moments later with an appointment card and the photos for Crowley. Aziraphale is careful to watch his husband. The images were regarded as if they were a sacred treasure. He was sure his husband was planning some grand gesture for Christmas. Now he had a plan of his own. He only needed to find time away to acquire the necessary gift. Which he imagined would be near impossible after the events of the past months. Seemingly, every time they parted unfortunate events took place. 'I will have to enlist Sera. Surely she will be agreeable.'

3:00 pm  
Jasmine Cottage

After a quick lunch at The Connaught, that turned out to be anything but quick. They finally made it to the home of their witch. Crowley received a text in route. To which he informed Aziraphale Anathema was sorry to miss them, but they had urgent business to attend to. Aziraphale found the whole matter suspicious but made no comment. 

Ysabel answers the door on the second knock. Greeting the angel with an elegant smile, "Hello, Aziraphale." In contrast, she scrutinised Crowley with a terse glance. Remembering the demon’s goading during their last visit, “Crowley.”

He bit back the instinct to return the woman's curt greeting. ‘Be polite. We need the witch.' "Hello, Ysabel. How are we this afternoon?"

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice. I am sorry to have missed your daughter and young Newton." Aziraphale interjects. Hoping the woman might let slip that her daughter and his husband were in fact colluding together.

There is a subtle sadness to her expression, "I'm sure my daughter appreciates the time alone." Ysabel steps aside, welcoming them in. 

He takes Ysabel's hand, "Would you not take our offer to stay with us? Our guest cottage is very comfortable." 

Ysabel sighs in defeat, "Perhaps I will. I believe I've overstayed my welcome some time ago." Gracefully she turns away, showing them into the kitchen, tea is there waiting.

Aziraphale sits, forcing himself to not pry into the woman's private matters. "You are most welcome to have supper with us. We have become rather decent cooks. Or if you like, there is a fully provisioned kitchen within the cottage." At least it would be upon the woman’s arrival. 

Crowley flops dramatically in the chair next to his angel. Legs splayed out, taking up as much room as he could. One lanky arm resting over the back of Aziraphale’s seat. ‘So much for privacy. This is what we agreed on. I just hope the witch knows what she is doing.’

Ysabel smiles to the angel, "Thank you. I'll inform my daughter."

Aziraphale returns her smile. "Not at all. We are lucky to have you."

"About your birth plan.” Ysabel leaves the room, returning quickly with a little folder and a pen. While Aziraphale pours himself a cup of tea, she shuffles through the forms. Once she has the one she seeks, she turns back to the pair. “I would like to get to know you Aziraphale. Who are you as a...well...angel? What types of things do you enjoy? What makes you comfortable? How do you relax when you become stressed?” The pen hovers over the paper in anticipation. 

Aziraphale thinks. ‘No one has ever asked me that before. Earth is full of so many wonderful things. Books, obviously. And food. Music and dancing. Our cottage. Crowley.’ Aziraphale looks to his husband, frustrated he can’t see his golden eyes. ‘I wish you didn’t feel you need to wear those spectacles. You never had to ask, did you? You have always just known. I think sometimes you know me better than I know myself.’ He fought the urge to kiss his husband for all the moments he never could. ‘I took you for granted for so long. You are the only one who ever truly cared. How different would my life have been without you? Miserable, is what it would have been.’ Turning back to their elegant witch, he settles on some answer, rather than remaining silent. “Well, Crowley is my greatest comfort. Whenever I feel troubled or unsure of things, he is always there.” Aziraphale felt his husband’s thumb begin to caress his shoulder. ‘I love you too, dearest.’ “I enjoy music. Reading always puts me at ease.”

Crowley felt the wave of loving warmth roll into him as his angel contemplated the witch’s question. He had expected food to make the list. Music and books were far from surprising. Yet, hearing his own name filled him with pride. ‘Greatest comfort? I hope to always be a comfort to you.’ 

Ysabel finishes penning the information then asks, “What type of music? We could put together a playlist.”

“You’d call it classical.” Crowley offers. “Doesn’t go in for anything too modern.” A gentle hand comes to rest on his knee. When he looks to his angel, he sees something he can’t quite place staring back. Love is there, shining out like the sun, and perhaps gratitude. He nearly loses himself in those impossibly beautiful sapphires. ‘I have no idea what I have done to deserve you looking at me like that. But I’ll take it. God, you are beautiful.’

“Perfect. Do you think that would make you comfortable when you go into labour?” Ysabel questions.

‘Comfortable in labour? Is such a thing possible?’ “I suppose. I’ve never been in labour before,” he admits, glancing at Ysabel’s notes.

“What are some physical comforts you prefer?”

‘Corporeal comforts?” “Tea, cocoa, food. I have a terrible sweet tooth. A warm bath is always lovely.” The thought of their nest springs to mind. ‘I want to give birth in our nest. In Crowley’s arms.’ Trying to think of any other scenario felt wrong. “I would like, that is, if you are in agreement, my love, to have Crowley with me at all times. I want you at my side throughout the whole ordeal. And I must deliver in our nest.” He says the last emphatically. 

“F’course. You are the only one who could make me leave,” Crowley says, leaning in to kiss his angel’s temple. ‘Bloody least I can do. I hate to think of you in that much pain.’

Ysabel stares at the pair in utter disbelief, “Angels and demons nest?” 

Aziraphale laughs awkwardly. “Odd thing really. We aren’t sure. We are...unique among our kind. Crowley started referring to it as such. I suppose he is right. It’s where we sleep now. I’ve grown terribly attached to it.” 

She nods, accepting the answer for what it was, “We’ll need plastic sheets to protect your nest. It will make clean up easier.” she makes a note on the bottom of her paper. “Any other physical comforts?”

“You like massages,” Crowley remarks, caressing his angel’s arm as a reminder. 

“I do.” He agrees. ‘You have such remarkably skilled hands.’ “Oh!” He shouts. Causing Crowley to nearly leap from his chair. “My wings. How could I have forgotten? Grooming is…’ ‘Sedative...arousing…’ “Positively wonderful in every way.” 

Startled herself, Ysabel takes up the pen she dropped during the angel's excitement. "From what I understand, you would like your husband to be intimate with you while you labour?”

Blinking dumbfoundedly at the woman, Aziraphale stutters, “E-excuse me?” ‘That is highly inappropriate. I may not have been involved directly with parturitions, but even I know a man and woman don’t engage in intercourse during childbirth.’

Amused by Aziaphale's reaction, she clarifies, “No, carino. Would you like your husband to show you emotional and physical support? Kissing, kind motivating words, holding you when the pain sets in? Crowley mentioned massages. Would your husband touching you be something you wanted during labour? Not every woman does.”

Blushing at the misunderstanding, “Yes. Yes, of course. That all sounds wonderful.” 

“Anything specific you might want him to do? So he knows in advance?” 

“Kissing is nice. Massages are delightful. You are an exceptional masseuse, dearest. Perhaps read to me? Walks or dancing? I know the books say that moving about is acceptable. I enjoy dancing.”

Crowley takes his angel’s hand and brings it to his lips. “I will dance with you whenever you want, dove.” he purrs, pressing the promise to Aziraphale’s knuckles.

“That!” he exclaims, pointing at his husband.

Crowley rears back as if being accused of some offence. “Whot?”

“When you say things the way you do. It is...it’s very comforting,” he admits bashfully. ‘Among other things.’

Ysabel smiles to herself. The two supernatural beings love for one another was very endearing. But they had business to attend to. “Aziraphale, when your labour becomes unbearably painful, what interventions would you like. I do not provide epidurals, but I can give you herbal remedies. Guide you through relaxation techniques. There is even a form of hypnosis.” 

He gave the witch’s offers real consideration. ‘Herbs should be fine. Crowley said we are going to Lamaze classes. I don’t think I would like to be hypnotized. Lord, why does there have to be so much pain?’ Aziraphale subtly shifts towards Crowley. Needing to feel his warmth. The cries of pain of a young girl he was sent to watch over to ensure a safe delivery echoes in his mind. Clear as that day so long ago. The young mother, barely fourteen, and baby survived the birthing. Only by a miracle, he was ordered to supply. ‘They can't all be that dreadful. Why would women ever agree to procreate?’ “Ysabel. Might I ask? I have been present for a few childbirths in the past. I know it is quite painful or sounds to be. What is it like? Truthfully?”

Thinking how best to answer, Ysabel pours herself a cup of tea. Sitting back in her chair, she uses her tea as an excuse to buy some time. True, her own experience hadn’t been all that bad. Other women seem to have it even easier than she. Then there are women, and situations, where everything is far worse. It would do the angel no good to fear the inevitable. Though painting it as a simple matter would be a lie. She settles for the truth as she knew it. “All births are different. Every woman you ask will tell you something unique to their own experience. Mine was fairly easy. It felt like horrible menstrual cramps most of the time. Then my body told me to push. There was a lot of pressure. Like relieving yourself.”

‘The very idea.’ That was one aspect of humanity Aziraphale was quite glad to not require. From the Highest of sovereigns to the lowliest of urchins, all had to defecate. It was an unpleasantly foul business. “Relieving? We don’t. I’ve never relieved myself. Nor had menstrual cramps.”

Ysabel had seen the angel consume food. She looked between the two. Somehow, even more, confused than she already was. Ysabel wants to ask about the workings of their digestive system but decided that probably wouldn’t help. “Have you had any...cramping since you became pregnant?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, remembering the first time he felt such an odd sensation. 

“The cramping is similar. In your lower back and abdomen. A tightening. Then it will release. It can be very painful. But mine wasn’t so terrible. It’s nothing like movies would have you believe. The pressure is unmistakable. It will let you know. My worst pain was when mi amor was crowning. It burned horribly.” She informs the sweet angel, as honestly as possible. 

“Thank you.” He says, fear of pain and his own shortcomings making his voice breathy. Hands unconsciously began to wring as he tried to calm himself. ‘I can do this. I have no choice. The Almighty has blessed us. Didn’t one of the book say something causes women to forget how truly awful it is? Lord, preserve me and give me strength.’ 

Crowley senses the icy fear consuming his angel. Little quivers of doubt and uncertainty stinging into him. Churning his corporation’s stomach. He sees it, well masked by a polite smile, but it is there all the same. Eyes lost to troubling thoughts instead of seeing what was before them. Face ghostly pale. Crowley shifts forward into Aziraphale’s field of vision. “Dove?” his voice soft and tender. 

Abruptly he is called back to reality. Stilling his hands, pressing them into his lap, Aziraphale focuses on his worried husband. “I’m fine, my love. Just taking it all in.” Though he tried, his voice still held a tremble as he spoke. 

Not having any words that would suffice in such a situation, Crowley kisses his angel’s forehead. ‘I would take the pain from you if I could. There has to be something I can do.’

The angel may not be her child, or even of an age to be considered such. But Ysabel felt a maternal need to comfort her new friend. Her voice delicately punctures through the tense silence, “We are going to be there with you carino. Everyone is scared their first time. But you are an angel. Surely if mortal women can do this, so can you. Does your doctor have any concerns?” 

Her kind words did little in the way of reassuring him. Though he appreciates the attempt, all the same. “Only if there is an emergency,” he answers with a bit more certainty to his words. 

“I am sure God will be watching over you, carino.” She says refilling the angel’s cup. Who looked fragile, sitting impossibly still in her daughter’s kitchen. 

Human’s opinion of him be damned Crowley knelt before the love of his existence. Hand’s slowly kneading circles into his angel’s thighs. Love fought against worry inside Aziraphale. Though the latter still chilled through Crowley’s essence. “Aziraphale if you want to have our child in hospital I will make sure…”

Aziraphale cups his husband’s cheek. “No, dearest. This is for the best.” ‘I think I might be all in a dither even if we were to utilize modern medicine. Probably more so.’

There was a knock at the front door. Knowing who it was likely to be Crowley stands. He gave his angel an apologetic look before hurrying to the door.

Hand raised about to knock again Adam smiles up at the friendly demon. “Hi, Mr Crowley.” Dog barks his own greeting. 

"Hey kid," he says, searching the lawn for The Them. “Where’s the rest of your little consortium?”

The former Antichrist shrugs, “They had to do homework.” 

Crowley had asked to meet with the boy, but he was loathed to leave his angel in such a state. He considered cancelling their plans and trying for another day. Only to feel a pang of guilt. The boy needed help, even if there was precious little he could genuinely offer. He looked back to Aziraphale for guidance. 

‘Don’t mind my fretting. The boy needs you more than my silliness.’ “Go, dear, I will be alright. I will fill you in after.” He says in reassurance. 

“Just a second kid.” Crowley goes back over to his angel, crouching, so he is at eye level. “You sure?” ‘Don't pretend to be alright. If you need me, I will stay.’

“Yes,” He gives his husband a quick peck. “Go, my love.”

He rises back to his full height. “I will be right outside if you need me.” 

"I know, dearest." Aziraphale smiles brightly to reassure his husband all is well.

Crowley accepts the dismissal and turns back toward the former Antichrist and his four-legged companion. "So ready to get started?"

"Yes!" Adam exclaims in enthusiasm, about to walk farther into the cottage. Only to have Crowley turn him and usher them outside.

Crowley takes up the majority of the little bench. Leaving just enough room for Adam to sit. The chilly late afternoon air and the scant clothing he wore left him wishing they were still indoors. "Alright. So what do we know you can do?" 

Adam thinks, recalling all the strange happenings several months back. "If I want something, and think about it being real. It happens."

'An eleven-year-old that can control reality. What the Hell was anyone thinking? Kid could have started Armageddon because he was sent to the naughty step.' "Right. Try making...oh I dunno...try making a ball."

Adam gave Crowley a little frown, "What kind of ball."

"I don't care. Whatever you want." He says dismissively. Questioning everything was one of children's better traits. However annoying it might be in the moment.

Adam focuses, imagining a football. After a few seconds, it appears. Signed by all the members of England's National football team. The young boy lights up as he inspects the signatures. Dog giving the thing a proper inspection with his nose.

Crowley huffs a laugh at the boy’s choice. ‘Still just a kid.’ "Good. Now um...try...turning the ball into a...rock." He orders, uncertain of his own command.

"Why a rock?" Adam asks, instantly thinking of more interesting prospects.

"Jussst do et." He hisses in annoyance. 'Why are humans so bloody difficult? Probably my fault somehow.'

Adam turns the ball over in his hands, reluctant to part with something he was rather hoping to keep. Figuring he could simply conjure another, he focuses. Imagining a rock the size of the ball. When suddenly he is nearly toppled from the bench. The now bolder slipping free from his grip, landing with a loud thud on the grass below, barely missing the Hellhound. 

‘Well that was overzealous.’ "Suppose you got the hang of that," Crowley says as a way of praising the young boy’s feat. "Ok. Now...” He thinks on his own abilities. ‘He’s not really a demon. Probably can’t shapeshift. Wonder if he can make stars? Shouldn’t put the possibility in his head. Oh, what do the humans call it...Teleporting. “Try teleporting."

Adam jumps up, eyes wide with excitment, "You can teleport?"

As the words left his mouth, he regrets informing the preteen of the possibility. ‘Probably a bad idea.’ "Yeah…” ‘If you steal from a bank, or skip out on your parents I’ll never hear the end of it.’ 

“What do I do? How far can you teleport?” Adam questions with the exuberance only a child his age were capable of harnessing. 

‘Shit. Probably just figure it out on his own anyhow.’ Crowley scans their surroundings for an easy target. A large oak across the lane seems appropriate for a first attempt. He waves a finger at the identified destination, “Just think you want to be over by that tree."

Adam looks to where the demon is pointing. There were several trees, but one with fewer shrubs surrounding its base. Figuring that was Crowley’s intention, he closes his eyes, imagining he is standing beneath the tree’s shade. He feels the Earth beneath him shift. A slight static charge prickles over his skin. Opening his eyes he sees the demon still sprawling on the bench, now six meters off. "Wicked!" He shouts, scaring a flock of unsuspecting birds from the tree. Dog bounding to his side. Yapping up at his master.

‘God, I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass.’ He waves to the Antichrist, "Now pop back over."

He chooses the spot next to the friendly demon. Materialising in his previously held seat. The Hellhound rushing back to his side. Adam sat smiling like the cat that got into the cream. "That's was brilliant."

He couldn’t fault the boy for his enthusiasm. To be mortal with powers must be a unique experience known only by one other. Who, had perished by Her divine plan. ‘You’re a good kid. Proved as much already haven’t you. Might as well enjoy your curse.’ "Not bad kid. Try going a bit further. That fence over there." He again gestures to the spot. This time nearly triple the length. 

Adam locks his eyes on the distant fence. Imagining it clearly in his mind. The same feeling as before takes him. In an instant, he is sitting on the white wood fence, nearly falling backwards in his excitement. 

Dog gives the demon a low growl, eyes glowing red in annoyance. “Whot are you waiting for? You are supposed to pad by his side, are you not?” The Hellhound glares at Crowley for a long moment before darting off towards Adam once more. Deciding that this was the perfect time to recall the boy Crowley shouts, “Good job, kid.” waving Adam back over.

Before the mutt was just past the halfway point, the boy stood before his demonic tutor. ‘Thank Her Worlock didn’t actually have your powers. Little shit would have been impossible to keep track of. Wonder how he is doing?’ “Okay, this is a bit harder. Go ahead and turn your...boulder back into that ball and take your ball and put it in your room. Imagine your room, leave the ball, and come back.” 

Adam, who hadn’t stopped smiling since this portion of his lesson, beams at the new challenge. Almost without thought, the rock returns to the autographed ball. Picking it up, he thinks of his room, of his little safe haven from the world. He is there, standing in the centre of his rumbled bed. All his little trinkets and toys scattered around the space. Adam sets the ball on a shelf. Harry Kane’s signature on full display. 

Crowley sits waiting, giving his watch a quick glance. The little Hellhound whines up at him. “You know, you are supposed to be intimidating.” He says, folding his arms over his chest. Dog huffs his disapproval, turning and giving a stretch so that his rear was on full display for the demon. “That’s just childish.” he sneers. 

Adam materializes in front of Crowley, "I did it!"

"You did." he agrees, impressed with the boy. 

Overflowing with thoughts of great magical feats, he can barely contain himself. "What else can I do?”

‘I am not teaching you how to influence human’s minds. You have a human body…’ "Try changing your form. You probably won't be able to, but give it a go."

"Like what?" Adam asks, looking himself over. 

‘You are killing me, kid.’ "Try your hair. Make it whatever colour you want."

Adam decides on green. It’s a nice colour and unmistakable if he is successful. Focusing, he imagines his hair a vibrant neon. Unsure if successful he looks to the demon. Who shakes his head no. Adam focuses again. Still nothing. He remembers his image in a mirror. Seeing himself staring back with electric green locks. Still nothing. Emboldened by his earlier successes, he is sure he must be able to. He shuts his eyes tight, calling the hue clearly into his mind. When he checks with Crowley, still nothing. Crestfallen, he groans. 

"Alright, alright. Don't hurt yourself. Have a seat.” Crowley instructs, shifting over. His own words inspire him, "Come to think of it." ‘Hurts. That could be useful for him.’ He holds up his finger and wills a minor cut just at the end. The useless blood of his corporation beading to a slow drip. "Try healing that."

Adam stares at the minuscule wound with worry. "Just imagine?"

"Yup" 

He imagines the blood stopping, the cut stitching together as if it had never existed. The demon’s skin complies. "I did it. I can heal!"

"So you can affect the world around you, but not yourself. Not bad." Crowley says, sitting back on the bench. Proud of his new protege. 

"I'm like some kind of Superhero. Like an X-men." Adam blurts at grasping the new understanding of his abilities.

Crowley sits forward, sternly pointing a finger at the boy. The memory of his friend from Nazareth a sobering reminder of what happens to mortals with divine powers. ‘He was good. And they still crucified him. All because he tried to help. Make their pathetic lives better. They will do the same to you. The same to our kid. Satan can’t hold a candle to some of them.’ "No. You are a mortal eleven-year-old boy. Don't go running around being some kind of vigilante. The more people who know about what you are, the more danger you are in. And don't be using your powers on your parents." ‘You’re welcome, Mr and Mrs Young.’

Seeing the sincerity in the demon’s warning, Adam knows it is to be taken seriously. "Yes, sir." There was a tinge of fear to his answer.

Crowley sighs, "Have some fun. But keep it within reason, yeah?"

"I will." Adam agrees. For a demon, this one was particularly agreeable. One might think he is not much of a demon at all. Though something told Adam he best keep those thoughts to himself. Then a better idea than contemplating the evilness of this demon comes to him. "Do you think I can make one of those zombies?"

Crowley chuckles. ‘You really are just a regular little boy.’ "Sure kid. Knock yourself out."

Adam looks out over the lawn. Imagining the ground cracking open with a festering hand. A decrepit body crawling from the Earth. No danger of any real harm. And a body bursting with his favourite candies. And so it happens. Adam imagines a bat, and it is in his hand. Dog barking menacingly, or as menacingly as a Hellhound in the body of a terrier could manage. The candy stuffed creature shambles over to him. Groaning a guttural sound. One wack to the skull and it is gone. Showering candy over the grass in a great explosion of colour. 

Crowley watches at the boy stoops and picks up a few of the scattered sweets. Adam walks back over to the bench and sits, Dog always at his side. He offers Crowley a full-size Dairy Milk. Choosing for himself a sherbert lemon. Crowley takes the offered candy, though figures his angel would appreciate it more. 

Poping the little drop in his mouth, he asks, "What do I do about my dreams?"

"Don't watch anything exciting before bed. And if something happens. We’ll take care of it." Crowley answers. It wasn’t much of a solution, but there wasn’t more advice he could give. 

They sat in silence a moment. Adam rolling the sweet around in his mouth. A question he had wanted to ask someone, anyone, broke through the happy buzzing of his thoughts. “Mr Crowley?” His tone, far too serious for a boy his age.

“Just Crowley, kid,” he says, crossing one leg over the other. 

“Crowley. I know I didn’t end the world. But…” Adam can’t bring himself to say the words aloud. 

“Spit it out, kid.”

“Am I...evil? During the Apocolypse...I felt things. Bad things.” he admits, eyes downcast with shame.

‘What do you even say to that?’ Crowley decides on the truth. He kept his voice neutral, soothing as he rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘They do this in movies.’ “No, Adam, you are not evil. Your father may have been Satan, but you are you. Mostly human. Neither good or bad.”

“I don’t want to hurt people.” The former Antichrist looks up at him with the largest, saddest eyes the demon had ever seen, next to his angel's. 

‘Oh sod off you two and your damn pitiful eyes.’ “Then don’t. You have that choice. Nobody can force you to do e'nythin you don't want to do. If you want to be a good person, be a good person. If you want to be a shit teenager, knock yourself out. Just don’t go destroying the world.”

Adam throws himself on the demon. Arms wrapping around his neck. He wasn’t a bad kid like this friendly demon wasn’t evil. "thank you, Mr Crowley."

He let out a grunt at the impact of the overly affectionate boy. At first, he wasn’t sure of what to do, but then his arm took over for him. It briskly rubs Adam’s back, ending with a little pat. "You're welcome, kid. Now go play with your friends or s'methin."

Releasing his friend Adam scoops up Dog and heads for his bike, parked at the garden’s edge. “Bye, Crowley!”

“See ya, kid.” Crowley waves. ‘Glad we weren’t around to muck him up. Glad the harlot didn’t let us kill him too.’ He didn’t feel much pride for his call for the boy’s death even then. Fear makes people do horrible things. 

Witnessing most of the last of the exchange made Aziraphale’s corporation’s heart melt. His husband may like to present himself as something to be feared, but deep down, there wasn’t a kinder heart in Heaven or Hell to his estimation. He walks out of Jasmine Cottage to Crowley, "Well, that went well."

"Yeah. He's a good kid." He says, staring off the direction Adam disappeared. ‘Hope ours turns out so well.’

‘And you are going to be an exceptional father.’ Aziraphale offers his husband his hand, "Are you ready to go dearest?" 

8:15 pm  
The Cottage

After a simple dinner of cottage pie, the pair sat opposite each other in their tub. Lavender bubbles soothing the senses. Aziraphale was near sleep as Crowley deftly kneads the strain of the day from his aching foot and ankle. As his husband’s thumb slid up the inner arch of his sole Aziraphale, let out a relieved groan.

Crowley could feel his angel relax physically. The comforting warmth that drifted into his essence only a confirmation. "You alright, dove?"

"Yes.” he sighs as the ball of his foot is worked into submission. “That feels brilliant. Thank you, dearest."

Smirking to himself, ‘The sounds you make.’ "Don't mention it. You want me to get your back next?" He asks as he massages his angel’s Achille's tendon.

Aziraphale opens his eyes, brows pleading with his husband, "Oh, would you?"

"Yeah, my pleasure," he says, giving his angel’s ankle a good roll. Crowley pauses a moment, considering his next course of action. ‘Should I ask or just surprise you? A plane should still be safe. Better ask.’ "How would you feel about taking a little trip?"

‘Right now I will agree to anything.’ "Where did you have in mind?" he asks, fingers gliding over Crowley’s shins beneath the water.

"Its a surprise.” He shrugs, going back to rubbing his angel’s calves. “But we will be taking the plane."

"I don't see why not.” Aziraphale smiles, nestling deeper in the perfectly warm water. “Will I be needing a new bathing costume?" ‘Almighty knows I can’t squeeze into the old one without performing a miracle.’

"No. It’s only for one evening." He says, lowering his angel’s foot back into the water, taking up the other.

‘You and your little mysteries.’ "Alright. Any clues?" He feels his husband firmly press a thumb into the centre of his foot. Working a particularly sore spot. ‘By Her mercy that feels divine.’

Crowley uses both hands to knead and stretch the ball of his angel’s foot. "No. But you'll like it." ‘Should have done this years ago. Almost missed the chance.’

Aziraphale shifts up a bit, pulling a mass of bubbles towards him. "You are very sure of yourself."

‘It was your idea, originally.’ "Just sure of you is all." he sees to this ankle’s tendon in firm circling motions.

When he finishes this foot, he lets it join the other. Carefully he wriggles free of the puzzle they managed to work themselves into. He climbs from their tub and stands dripping beside his angel, "Budge up."

Aziraphale scoots forward, pulling his knees up the best he could. His husband slips in behind him, strong dexterous hands instantly loosening any knots in his lower back. ‘You spoil me so. You are such a wonderful husband. I love you. I love this life we are building together. It is almost too perfect. Could it have always been this way?’ "Crowley?" he whispers into the silence of their bathroom.

"Yes, dove?" he answers, focusing intently on his angel’s shoulders. 

"Does all this ever seem… like a dream to you?" Aziraphale asks heart heavy with the thousands of mistakes that could have led them to an entirely different outcome. 

"Yeah. Sometimes." Crowley acknowledges. "Then something happens that reminds me just how shit this world can be. Why?” He can feel the anxiety welling up within his angel. Hands pausing where wings should be.

"If you would have asked me a year ago where I thought we'd be, I would have probably guessed dead. Or at least in the midst of that awful war, they were all so desperate for," Aziraphale admits. Staring at a little float of bubbles. One popping causing the surrounding ones to follow.

“Happy thought.” Crowley assesses flatly. 

“I hoped our plan would work. I was desperate for it. For you.” He continues, feeling the prickle of tears. ‘If we had lost. I would have never known. Never felt what it was like to be with you.’ “And now we are married. Bound together for all eternity. On the verge of parenthood. Us... I couldn’t ask for a better outcome.”

All too aware of the slope his angel was hurtling down he leans forward. Hands tenderly caressing his angel’s arms. “What’s wrong, dove?”

Aziraphale turns slightly to meet his husband’s eyes, “I am so happy, sometimes it scares me.” his breath quivering on a sharp inhale. “That I’ll wake up and it was all some fantasy I concocted. That I am...still...subservient to Heaven. Pretending I am not madly in love with you. That our Alexandria never existed. I couldn’t bear it.” Looking back to the water, he frowns at his rippling reflection. 

“Hey,” he says softly, arms wrapping around his angel. “Come'ere.” Aziraphale leans into him, head resting against his cheek. Crowley holds his family close, kissing his angel’s temple, “Does this feel real?”

“Yes,” he whispers. The safety of his husband's embrace grounds him in the present.

Crowley slides his hands to Aziraphale’s belly. Fingers splayed, covering as much of his angel’s bump as he could, “Does this feel real?”

“Yes, my love.” his voice even lighter than before. 

With a finger, Crowley tilts his angel’s chin up so he can look into Aziraphale’s beautiful eyes. “We’re real, dove. We are real, and we aren’t going n’ywhere.”

Out of shame, he looks back to the water, “Sorry, dearest. I think I am just being a bit emotional.” ‘We were having such a lovely bath. Why must I be so ridiculous?’

“No,” Crowley says, tipping his angel’s chin back up. ‘Please don’t look away.’ “That’s what couples do m’I right. Communicate. I don’t want you hiding what you feel from me. If you are worried about s’methin, talk to me. We’ll figure it out.”

Tears burst free, much to Aziraphale’s dismay. He had tried to stifle them, but they couldn’t be repressed a moment longer. “Good Lord. Now I am crying.”

“Nobody is saying you shouldn’t.” Crowley kisses at the corner of his angel’s eye. Hugging Aziraphale all the tighter. 

“Stop being so wonderful. You’ll only make it worse.” ‘I love you. I love you. God, how I love you.” Holding his husband’s arms, he huffs a little sob.

“Can’t help it. I am a shit demon,” he smirks.

‘In the best way possible.’ he leans into his husband’s cheek once more, “Perhaps you are. But I love you all the same.”

‘Gabriel.’ Crowley shifts so he can whisper into his angel’s ear. He purrs low. Grinning wickedly to himself, “Speaking of shit demons, I almost forgot.”

“What?” ‘Not Hell. What have you heard? Are we in danger?’

“Your former bossss.” he hisses playfully against Aziraphale’s ear. 

‘Of course, it’s about him.’ “What about Gabriel?” he grumbles.

“Beelzebub told me a bit of information about the twat that I think you will enjoy.” 

‘Just tell me already. Has he found a way around his banishment?’ “What is it?”

“You know my snakeiness and Bee’s flies? Hatsur’s blob of puss he calls a frog?”

“Your familiars, yes?” ‘What are you getting at, dearest?’

“Exactly. Well, all demon’s get one. An animal of some sort.” he explains, only to build the suspense. 

“Okay.” ‘And what does this have to do with Gabriel? I am sure he has something frightful. Some great beast like a lion.’

“Well, get this. According to Beelzebub, your former boss has, for his familiar…” he pauses for dramatic effect. Biting his lip to keep from laughing. He steadies his voice to speak the words clearly as possible, “A bloody peacock.”

Aziraphale turns to look at his husband. Crowley was far too pleased with himself for it to even be a half-truth. He bursts into a roaring fit of laughter. Head listing back, hand coming to his chest. ‘A peacock. How fitting. Great blustering gormless wretch.’

Grinning from ear to ear he continues, the details only sweetening the pot, “Bee said it is a moulting mess. Perched right on his shoulder. Squawking that horrible shrill sound those God-forsaken birds make every time he opens his mouth.”

The image Aziraphale imagines is one he wishes he could see in person. Gabriel scowling at a dishevelled bird ruining his meticulous suit, interrupting him whenever he tries to speak. His sides begin to ache for his uncontrolled laughter. When he finally he relaxes into a broken giggle, he sighs, “Oh, gracious.” he wipes away a joyful tear. “When at last he calms to a broken giggle he manages to ask, How are they assigned anyway?”

“Just kinda have’em,” Crowley admits.

“Thank you, my love. I needed that.” he smiles brightly up at his husband. Damp crimson hair cascading over his shoulders. Golden serpent eyes full of love staring back at him. 

Crowley kisses the tip of his angel’s nose, “C’mon. We are going to prune if we stay in here any longer.” He assists his angel out of the tub. Wrapping a fluffy towel around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Grabbing his own to secure around his waist. His angel beams up at him, cobalt eyes glittering in the dim light of their bathroom. ‘You are so breathtaking. ’

When Crowley had turned back to him, his expression was changed. Pupils blown wide with desire. Aziraphale sees it, and yet his husband makes no advance. Deciding Crowley might just need the right motivation he allows his towel to slip from his shoulders. 

Crowley goes still. By this point, he knew every inch of his angel’s form. Every curve, every line was committed to memory. Even now, Aziraphale was as wonderous as that first moment atop the wall. The first time they held each other in his old flat. He was a starving man presented with a feast. A feast currently begging to be devoured.

Grabbing his angel by the waist, he pulls Aziraphale into a passionate kiss. Tongue seeking entrance is welcomed without hesitation. His angel moans into his mouth, hands tangling in his hair. Desire floods his senses with sharp pulsating barbs. Crowley's hands roving over every inch of his angel’s pale skin. Firmly gripping one deliciously plump cheek. ‘A dream? Every moment with you is a perfect dream.’

Crowley scoops his angel into his arms. Carrying Aziraphale to their nest. His angle clings to him in surprise. “Don’t worry, dove. I’ve got you.”

Aziraphale giggles, “I can walk, you know.”

“Yes, but why walk when you can be carried?” He lays his angel down in the soft bedding. Climbing in to hover between supple thighs. Radiant beauty gazing up at him. 

Careful not to rest his weight on their child he leans in claiming Aziraphale’s mouth. Tongues meet, caressing, tasting, need burning inside of him. Every wave of desire his angel releases spurring him on. His mouth descends upon sensuous neck. Teeth grazing, nipping, drawing out low, breathy moans from divine lips. His angel's hands fisted in his hair as he takes a perk bud into his mouth. 

A hand slips between them. Finding the little pearl, slick with Aziraphale's desire. He begins to circle the bundle with his fingers, mimicking the motion with his tongue on his angel's nipple. Aching pleasure biting into him in sharp relentless barbs. His own effort demanding relief. 

Aziraphale is spiralling for the pinnacle. His husband's name a breathless prayer pleading for more. Legs trembling as Crowley drives him relentlessly towards climax. Without warning, his breast is released with a sharp scrape of teeth. Crowley bows, mouth claiming sensitive bead, long fingers plunged into his entrance. Stars dance behind tightly shut lids as his release is wrenched from him. 

Crowley coaxes his angel through each wave of orgasm. Bathed in the rapturous sensations that flow into him. When Aziraphale lay still before him, panting, eyes pleading for more, he rises up for a kiss. “Turn over for me, dove.” he gently commands. 

Aziraphale hurridly complies. Situating himself in Anantasana position. Which, he had one more than one occasion through their lesson considered with interest. Though his arms remain bent near his head. He feels nails raking over his thigh, sending a shiver up his spine. 

Crowley grabs both cheeks and gives them a firm squeeze. "Do you want me, dove?" Taking his length in hand, be brushes the head over his angel's entrance. 

"Please," Aziraphale begs, trying to press back onto his husband. 

He grabs his angel's hips, pressing his arousal just inside before withdrawing. "Tell me what you want, dove."

Aziraphale whimpers, wanting to curse his husband for the cruel tease. "I want you."

Crowley repeats the quick thrust. Removing himself just as quickly. "I want you too, dove. Tell me how you want me," he growls low. 

Desperately he tries to wiggle free from his husband's restrictive hold, to no avail. "Crowley, please. I need you." As he turns his head to glance back, he is breached again, his husband pulling away once more. The quick stretch and promise of being filled, making his corporation pulse with aching need.

He can feel his angel’s frustration, the barbs and sharp pulses only intensifying as he denies what he knows Aziraphale desires. His whole body thrums with their joint need. "I will give you e'nythin you want. You just have to tell me what that is. Can you do that for me, dove?"

This time, when his husband dips inside, it is slow, allowing him time to savour the press before it is take away. He keens helplessly into a pillow at the loss. ‘I will have my revenge for this.’ Reaching back he grabs his devious husband’s wrist "I want you inside me. I want… uunnnuhhh!" Crowley thrusts in, to the hilt. Aziraphale buries his face in their nest. His own effort constricting around his husband’s demanding he not withdraw. 

It is then he realises the game. Crowley doesn’t move. He is still resting heavy within him. ‘And you call me a bastard.’ Aziraphale attempts to move, but his husband’s hold makes it impossible. For a brief moment, he considers testing Crowley’s resolve. Seeing just who would cave to their desires first. Deciding it would be more enjoyable for them both he allows his demon this victory, "I want you to make love to me."

Crowley obliges with a slow sensual roll of his hip, "Slowly?"

"No." Aziraphale helplessly moans, body tensing each time he feels his husband begin to withdraw. 

"How, dove?" he asks, continuing the slow thrusts, feeling the searing ache shoot through him. 

Releasing Crowley’s wrist, he fists his hands in the bedding, widening his legs just a bit. He slows big breathing, heeling the languid drag over the bundle of nerves just inside. "Don't hold back."

Crowley leans forward, pressing a kiss between his angel’s shoulder blade. "Thank you, dove." He quickly sets a relentless pace. Each thrust sent shock waves of extasy bursting from Aziraphale. Everything is alight with pleasure. It prickles over his skin, burns in his corporation, and sings in his essence. 

Hands holding his angel still, so each thrust firmly his its mark. Aziraphale moans, keening his name into their otherwise silent space, his own groan’s of pleasure echoing in response. Body trembling as they climb to the summit together. 

Yet, it isn’t enough. Crowley leans in, wrapping his arm under his angel’s chest, the other hand coming to support Aziraphale’s belly. Carefully he brings his angel up to kneel with him in their nest. “Look at me, dove. I need to see you.”

Aziraphale turns, though keeping his eyes open is near impossible. His hand reaching back, grasping at crimson stands. As Crowley pushes them all the faster towards release. Mouth claiming his neck, teeth sweeping over his pulse.

“Keep this for me, dove?” he kisses the intended spot.

“Yes,” Aziraphale keens, tilting his head to allow his husband better access. 

Crowley bites down, teeth stopping just shy of breaking the tender skin. His angel moans all the louder. Sucking hard, he makes certain there will be a mark for several days. Then it is there, "Come for me, dove. Let me see you."

Aziraphale’s orgasm courses through his body, muscles convulsing as he feels his husband release deep within. His husband’s hips slow, strong arms the only thing keeping him upright. The lazy haze of bliss settling in upon him. Crowley, gently turning his head for a kiss. He hums in appreciation, still enjoying feeling their bodies connected. "You are a devious fiend, my love."

Crowley slides free, helping his very pleased looking angel to settle in their nest. "Good thing you have a thing for devious fiends." he purrs, wriggling in beside Aziraphale, so his angel can rest on his chest. Legs entwined with his. 

"Well, just a particularly handsome one, dearest.” he giggles settling in. 

“I love you too, dove.”


	30. The Memories We Share

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, fluff, and more fluff

Monday 16 December 2019  
6:20 am  
The Cottage

Aziraphale woke early. His corporation’s stomach grumbling lowly at its displeasure of being empty. His husband lay next to him, lost to a seemingly pleasant dream. Unwilling to be the cause of such a serene smile disappearing, he awkwardly slips from their nest. Silk floral robe pulled over his nudity as he heads downstairs.

Yesterday they attended Violette’s to learn how to properly prepare an elegant Christmas feast. Roast goose, potatoes, honeyed parsnips and carrots, stuffing, red cabbage, even homemade cranberry sauce. Aziraphale insisted on learning both dessert options. A sumptuous trifle that looked nearly too beautiful to eat, nearly. And possibly the most delicious Christmas pudding Aziraphale had ever tasted. All of which now filled every spare inch of space within their refrigerator.

Violette was as skilled a chef as an instructor. Even with their novice experience, everything came out perfectly. She also demonstrated both an alcoholic and non-alcoholic mulled wine. When the young woman served Aziraphale and herself the latter option, she informed them that she was indeed, little over a month, pregnant.

Aziraphale decides this morning that Christmas pudding was precisely what he and their child wanted for breakfast. Sure it wasn’t what humans would consider an ideal morning meal, but he reasoned it contained fruit. He places the kettle on and prepares coffee for his husband. While he waits for the former to sing it’s readiness, he sat at their kitchenette. Happily nibbling on a generous portion of the dessert.

"Morning, dove!" Crowley booms from the entrance to their kitchen.

Nearly leaping from his chair in fright Aziraphale clutches his chest, "Good Lord. Crowley, you scared me half to discorporation."

He saunters over in nothing but his black pyjama bottoms. Sleep mussed hair falling in messy curls around his shoulders. "Sorry." He apologises, with what was intended to be a quick peck. But, at his angel’s insistence, dissolves into a delicate meeting of tongues and caress of lips. ‘I am the luckiest bastard that ever lived.’ Taking up his usual chair, "How's my beautiful angel this morning?" He asks with a broad smile.

"Someone is in a very good mood this morning. Coffee?" Aziraphale is up heading for the machine before his husband can answer.

"Yeah, thanks. Big plans today." ‘Hope everything goes to plan.’

"Oh?" Aziraphale inquires, setting a steaming cup before his husband.

"Thanks, dove,” he says, taking a sip. It was strong and bitter just as he liked it. "Remember that trip?" He asks with an even broader smile.

Sitting, taking up his fork, he glances up at his husband, "So it is today, then?" Aziraphale cuts a dainty bite from the pudding.

"Yep," Crowley says triumphantly, breaking a chunk of the dessert from his angel’s slice. Popping into his mouth, he reclines back in his chair. ‘I can not wait to see your reaction. Just hope you don’t let that selfishness thing keep you from enjoying yourself.’

Surprised by his husband’s sudden interest in food, "Dearest if you want, I will be happy to prepare you something."

"Nah. This is fine," he says, taking up his coffee.

‘This can not be what you have enlisted Anathema and Newton’s aid for. One evening? What in Heaven’s name are you planning?’ "Where are we going?"

"Yu'll see when we ge’there." He smiles slyly taking a sip of coffee ‘Why do you always try and ruin the surprise?’

"In that case, what shall I wear?" Aziraphale eats his pudding. Trying to appear as though he isn’t thoroughly scrutinising his husband for any clue as to their destination.

Crowley shrugs noncommittally. "Whatever you want."

"Alright." Aziraphale cuts another morsel. ‘An evening out, with no dress requirements, and we need a plane? What are you playing at?’

The kettle whistles shrilly. “I’ve gotet.” Crowley hurries over to the stove, pouring the water into the elegant little teapot. He returns to his angel’s side, placing the beautiful antique down complete with the special blend of ingredients their midwife recommended. "But first, we are going to the spa."

"The spa?" ‘An evening abroad, no expectations of appropriate attire, and now the spa?’

Crowley sees the cogs working away in his angel’s head. Though Aziraphale’s expression would appear unassuming to the casual observer, he knew by the almost imperceptible purse of lips, his angel is hard at work trying to solve the riddle. "Yeah. Let a professional see to your back." 'I m'not giving you any hints. So stop trying.'

‘Lord, help me. You are far better at intrigue than I.’ "You do an excellent job of it yourself, dearest. But I won't turn down the offer." He takes another nibble of pudding.

Finishing his coffee, he shoots to his feet, "Right. Well, soon as you are done, we'll be going." His angel is mid-chew when he gives Aziraphale a quick peck. After tidying the kitchen, he disappears upstairs. Knowing this mystery is likely to plague his angel’s mind for the rest of the day.

11:00 am  
London

They hadn’t been patrons of this particular spa since September. As Aziraphale had managed to find a quaint little establishment near their cottage to maintain his nails. All the same, the young receptionist seemingly remembers them instantly upon entering, “Mr and Mrs Crowley. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“Yeah, hi,” Crowley says, pulling off his scarf. “We have an appointment.”

“Yes, right this way.” She shows the pair to the changing room. Aziraphale remembering far too vividly their little romp a few months past, as they are left alone.

Crowley assists his angel out of the cream coat and treasured cardigan. Placing both of their warmer outer layers in the space provided. When he turns back, Aziraphale is pulling free of powder blue satin dress. His angel had forgone all desire for trousers as they had become too tight to squeeze into. They could have miracled the lot to accomodate but decided against it. These days the majority of Aziraphale’s wardrobe consisted of loose dresses with no zippers or buttons insight. Undergarments being the one thing left relatively unchanged. Soft sheer blue panties and matching bra did little to conceal his angel’s perfection. ‘If I didn’t know better, I would think you were trying to tempt me.’

Aziraphale stares down at his belly, cradled in the maternity band. The last time they were here there was so sign of their little one outwardly. This time he had to peer a bit forward to see his toes. ‘How time flies. Seems just yesterday we were just finding out about you. You are so precious to us both.’ Unfastening the velcro, he places his band with the dress.

“Dove?”

He turns, his husband giving him a concerned look. “Hmmm?”

“You alright?” Crowley asks. His angel looked as if lost in thought thousands of miles away.

“Yes, my love.” He smiles. “I was just remembering when we last came here. I looked vastly different.”

Crowley saunters over, removing his sunglasses. Tilting his angel’s chin up, he gives Aziraphale a quick peck, “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He feels his face grow warm, “Flatterer.” Aziraphale accuses playfully beginning to unbutton his husband’s shirt.

“S’not flattery if it is true.”

Finishing the last button, Aziraphale gazes up at his husband, “Well, we have mirrors at home.”

"Whot's that suppose to mean?" Crowley frowns. 'Don't you dare say you aren't beautiful.'

Sliding his hands under his husband's shirt, he spreads it open, "Well, my wonderful husband." He pushes under the silk at his husband's shoulders. Fingernails gently scratching as he slowly eases Crowley's shirt down. "Then you have seen yourself." Tipping his head up, their mouth nearly touch, "So I can't be the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. As you have seen yourself." He doesn't close the distance. Staring into golden eyes, he waits.

'Pure temptation is what you are. Wicked, undeniable temptation. Damn, that was smooth. Little minx.' "Now who's using flattery?"

Casting his husband's shirt to the chair behind him, he keeps his focus on Crowley. "As you said, it's not flattery if it is true." 'Kiss me.'

Crowley feels a tickle of ache flow into him. He seals their mouths together. A tongue flicking at his lip, he meets it eagerly. Hands grasp snakehead, hastily prying it open. A sharp knock raps against the door. His angel withdraws. 'Fuck! Bloody humans.' "Almost ready." He growls in frustration. His arousal throbbing in restrictive leathers.

Aziraphale steps back several paces, smiling a perfect coquettish grin. Unclasping his bra, he slips free, tossing the garment to his husband. 'This is for your little game last week.' Turning, he slides his hands beneath his panties. Bowing forward as he pushes them down. Affording his clearly aroused husband an unobstructed view of his effort.

"Beguiling, vexing minx." He growls the accusation. Kicking off his boots.

Again he throws his husband his remaining article of clothing, "Perish the thought. Me? Beguiling?" He feigns innocence as he pulls on the plush white robe, tying it securely. "I was merely preparing for our spa appointment."

'Lies.' Crowley gives his angel a look of disbelief as he sheds his trousers and briefs in one fluid motion. Effort on full display. "Angels aren't supposed to lie, ya'know."

"Oh?" Aziraphale grabs the second robe and glides back to his husband. He offers the luxurious covering, as a fingertip travels from the centre of Crowley's lean chest, "I could help you with that."

Another louder knock calls from the door. Crowley is about to snap his fingers and freeze time when the robe is thrust into his hand.

"Come, dearest. Best not keep them waiting." Aziraphale turns and heads for the door, without so much as a glance back.

The door is opened, and his devious angel smiles politely at the human. Realising how naked he is he quickly covers his noticeably aroused state with the robe. 'Right bastard. God, I love you.'

"My apologies. My husband will be right out. He is just putting on his robe." He says to the woman who can't help but look over to Crowley. Who waves, hand pressing the aforementioned robe against himself to conceal his member. "Dearest, please don't dawdle."

"Right behind you." He calls out. 'I married a bastard.'

Aziraphale found himself situated on an interesting cushion. One which comfortably cradles his belly and ample bust. Knees and feet the only thing directly touching the bed beneath. He hears the door open, and his husband's spicy, smoky scent drifts over to him.

"What on Earth is that?" He asks of the contraption his angel in cradled by.

Their masseuses look over. One answers dismissively "pregnancy cushion. Keeps pressure off the baby."

Aziraphale looks up, "It is delightful."

"Where does one acquire such a thing?" 'That will make wing grooming so much easier. Among other things."

"On the internet. Mr Crowley if you will disrobe and lay on the bed we will get started." Instructs the smaller of the two women.

The woman skillfully works the pair into a state of absolute comfort. Taking special care to make sure the mother-to-be felt supported throughout. Skin exfoliated, aching joints and muscles kneaded into submission. Crowley can't help but chuckle at the more obscene sounds his angel makes when the women trends to Aziraphale's lower back.

When they are finished, the women show them to the salon. Their hands and feet are seen to accordingly. One nosy patron makes a comment that it was nice seeing a straight man be in touch with his feminine side. To which Crowley remarks, "Who said I was straight? Or a man?" Everyone within earshot gives both him and Aziraphale questioning glances. Though nobody asks the glaring question.

Finally, they are both seated in the hairdresser's stations. A young man drapes Aziraphale in a smock. "So what did you have in mind? A simple blow out or something a bit more fabulous?" He prances around his client, considering the texture and length of Aziraphale's hair.

"Elegant and simple," Crowley instructs. "You've seen Titanic?"

"Who hasn't?" The man smirks, combing his fingers through platinum ringlets.

"The woman's hair at dinner," Crowley says gesturing to his head pantomiming the intended style.

"Rose's little updo. Yes. That won't be difficult at all." He says with confidence. "And what about you, Sir. What will we be doing for you today?"

"Making sure my wife is happy." He says dismissively.

The young man nods and sets to work. Each strand fashioned just so until they shine to perfection. Swept up in the identified coiffure. A thin strand of crystals, miraculously provided by Crowley, is tucked in to complete the look.

Aziraphale considers his reflection 'That is no simple hairstyle. An evening out, the spa, no expectations on my clothing, but my hair looks ready for a ball. I yield. I have no idea what you have planned.'

"Do you like it?" The man asks with a chock of his hip.

"Yes. It is beautiful." Aziraphale smiles his thanks before standing. "What next?"

Crowley checks his watch. 'Three thirty-seven. Perfect.' "We, dear wife…" he begins, offering his arm. "Hav'a fight to catch."

4:00 pm  
London City Airport

As they approached the entrance of their plane, they were greeted by a familiar smiling face. "Mr and Mrs Crowley." Suddenly their stewardess gapes at the swell of Aziraphale's belly. "Oh my. Congratulations!" The young woman can't help but wonder how far along her employer's wife might be.

"Thank you." Aziraphale smiles sweetly. Hand sweeping over satin of his dress.

Seeing Mr Crowley growing impatient, she collects herself, "We will have dinner ready for you as soon as we are in the air."

"Right. Let us know." Crowley says curtly. Escorting his angel toward their stateroom. It wasn't the human's fault for his growing anxiety. There were serious matters to attend to. And as the moment neared, old regrets began to set in. 'I should have done this sooner. I should have been there in the first place.'

They enter their room. The window shades are already drawn, lights dim. Crowley shuts the door gently, turning the latch. Taking a deep, cleansing breath to steady his nerves. He guides his angel over to the bed and waits. 'No turning back now.'

Aziraphale looks over the items laid out before him. A midnight blue coat, that except for the sleeves, might be considered a cape. It was made of heavy velvet, lined with matching blue satin. Around the hem is intricately decorated with broad gold embroidery. An elaborate swirling pattern of filigree, holly, snowflakes, and mistletoe contrasting against the deeper coloured fabric. Matching velvet flats with ankle sashes sat to the left.

Next to that was a white dress. A wide scoop neckline glittering with a spray of crystals. The rigid bodice tapering out into three tiers of tulle. Covered by a sheer mesh lace that ended in a scalloped crystal edge. The same winter motif carried over along its hem. Each fourth peek capped by a perfect snowflake, picked out in iridescent crystals. Holly, mistletoe, and scattering of Swarovskis and dainty glass beads glint in the low light. To its right, a flat white box and white lace undergarments.

Aziraphale ran a finger over the intricate beading, marvelling at the craftsmanship. "Crowley..." He turns. His husband is there, eyes downcast, hands holding an envelope which was darkened with age. The old paper is offered to him tentatively.

Gingerly he accepts the item and looks it over. A golden wax seal is broken on the back. 'This is my seal. What in Heaven's name?' Aziraphale gently opens the letter. Inside is an old piece of worn paper. The seams of each fold near failure from repeated use. He opens it and reads.

_Dear Crowley,_

_It seems like ages since we last spoke. I am terribly sorry for my ghastly behaviour those thirty years ago. While my answer to your request has not changed, I would like to put that dreadful business behind us._

_I have secured two box seats at a new production in St. Petersburg. I know it is a great distance to travel. Though I am certain, you will have no trouble with that, my dear fellow. The composer Tchaikovsky is said to have provided the music. I believe you will like his work._

_It is a ballet. Based on E.T.A. Hoffmann's story "The Nutcracker and the Mouse King." I have a copy of the book in my shop if you are interested. It will be held on 18 December at the Imperial Mariinsky Theatre in St. Petersburg, Russia. Eight o'clock sharp._

_I do hope to see you there. If not, perhaps we might have lunch together. Or share a bottle of wine in the near future. I hope this invitation finds you well._

_ Your's truly,_   
_ Aziraphale_

He remembers that day in 1892. His hopes had been so high that evening. A night out with his beloved demon. Away from their duties and expectations. It had been his own folly. He had enjoyed the ballet. Though his heart was heavy as the seat next to him remained empty. 'You have kept this all this time?'

"I got your invitation when I woke up. Fifty years later." He admits, watching his angel closely. Blue eyes glistening with unshed tears, looking as if they had seen a ghost.

Aziraphale gazes up from his letter, "Woke up? Crowley, you mean…" 'You were asleep the whole time? No wonder you never answered any of my letters.'

"Yeah. Sorry, dove." He says, unsure of how to proceed. 'Should have been there.'

Aziraphale could see his husband's mind admonishing itself. Serpent eyes hidden behind dark lenses, but his guilt was apparent all the same. He replaces the letter and hands the envelope back to his husband. "No. I expected you wouldn't come. It had been thirty years. I had hoped, but I was horrid to you. I wanted to apologise for my behaviour. I missed you so terribly. I thought…" Aziraphale sank to the bed. "I thought I had lost you. I should have told you then what you meant to me. How desperately I needed you. Instead, I hurt you."

'You were horrid? I was cruel. And you were the one trying to apologise. ' "No, dove. I shouldn't have said I didn't need you. I desperately needed you too. I was…doesn't matter now." He takes his angel's hand. "It may have taken me a hundred and twenty-seven years, but I'd like to make it up to you. Will you let me, dove?"

Aziraphale couldn't help the tears that fell down his face. "That's what all this is?"

"Yeah." He says, hand cupping soft cheek, thumb wiping away his angel's tears. "And I know I didn't have too. I want to."

He rose, arms wrapping around his husband's waist, resting his head on his firm chest. "I love you, Crowley." 'I hope you know how much you mean to me.'

Careful of his angel's hair, he held Aziraphale close. "I love you too, dove." Over his angel's shoulder, he sees the box forgotten on the bed. "Wait. There's this."

Releasing Aziraphale, he picks up the parcel. Holding it before his angel, he opens it revealing the Harry Winston Holly Wreath necklace. Diamonds brilliant twinkling as each facet catches the light. In addition to the priceless piece are two earrings, similar in design, with a large pear-shaped diamond dangling from the small cluster.

Aziraphale's mouth falls open. "Crowley...I…"

'Don't ask, just accept.' "Here." He says removing the necklace and walking around his angel. He lowers it around Aziraphale's soft neck and fastened it securely.

The piece is heavy against his skin. He traces the surface feeling each precious stone. "It's exquisite." 'Why do you feel as though you must lavish me with such gifts? It really isn't necessary.'

Crowley kisses his angel shoulder, "You're exquisite. Its'a cheap trinket in comparison." 'So far, so good.'

He assists Aziraphale with the earrings and out of the satin dress. Floral dressing gown, secreted from home, is draped on for modesty's sake. So as to not make Azirphale feel underdressed, he too dons his own black robe. Crowley quickly shifts all the garments to the little sofa in the corner. Helping his angel onto their bed as the pilot announces they are preparing for take-off. They lay in each other's arms, legs intertwined, as the plane ascends to the sky.

"You know I went to see it," Crowley says idly stroking Aziraphale's arm.

"The Nutcracker? When?" Aziraphale inquiries caressing his husband's chest that peeked through the robe.

"Afta the Nazis business was over. Wasn't very popular. Figured I might not have many chances to see what I'd missed out on." Sighing at the memory, staring blankly into the distance.

'It was a bit of a flop. Didn't have many fans until...' "Crowley?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you?"

"Seemed like somthin you would like. And you were right. I did like Tchaikovsky's work."

Aziraphale sits up, awkwardly throwing a leg over to straddle Crowley's lap. "My husband, patron demon of the arts."

"Purely selfish reasons." 'Had to make sure it was still around. If I ever got my head out of my arse.'

"Of course." he kisses his husband. Strong hands begin caressing his back.

There is a knock at their door. "Mr and Mrs Crowley. Dinner is served in the dining room." Came their stewardess's sweet voice.

Crowley's head fell back into the pillows in frustration. 'Bloody humans' he gives his angel's hips a pat, "C'mon. You'll like this too."

Aziraphale is lead through the plane to the spacious dining room. A long elegant mahogany table with fourteen available seats was set for two. He is seated at the head of the table, his husband choosing the chair to his left. Water and green tea were provided. He wasn't sure what more his husband could do to surprise him, but this was Crowley after all.

The door behind them opens, and a middle-aged gentleman enters. A single platter in hand. He sets it down before Aziraphale, who looks to his husband completely dumbfounded. "Sushi? But, dearest I can have sushi."

"Turns out it's safe as long as it's cooked and you avoid certain fish. Thank Violette. She was the one that told me." He smiles proudly. Waving away the server. Crowley takes up the chopsticks and selects a piece which contains octopus. After dipping it in soy sauce, he presents it to his angel.

Aziraphale parts his lips, accepting the proffered food. His whole palette lights up with the wonderful symphony of flavours. He hums his appreciation as he savours the morsel. "That was scrumptious. Thank you, my love."

Thoroughly enjoying his angel's rapturous sounds, he offers another, clam. It too is eaten with great relish. 'I love watching you enjoy yourself.' He offers another, conger eel. The pleasurable sound made at the back of his angel's throat calling to mind other diversions. His own hunger burning within his corporation. Every innocent smile, moan of satisfaction stoking the fire.

When his angel had consumed the last piece, he sits back to appreciate the brilliantly happy angel sipping a cup of tea. "So? Not bad, eh?"

Patting the corners of his mouth with a napkin, "Not bad is a gross understatement. That was divine, my love. Thank you." He leans in for a kiss. As he draws the yerning in golden eyes is unmistakable.

"My love" he rises, stepping in front of Crowley. "If you want me…" Satin sash is pulled loose, allowing floral robe to slip to the floor. "I am yours."

With a snap, Crowley locks the doors. Reverently he draws his angel towards him. Hands caressing lush thighs, up to his angel's soft sides. "I want you here, on this table. Will you let me, dove?"

Aziraphale takes his husband’s hand and brings them to his panties. Encouraging him to draw them down. "With pleasure, my love."

Crowley slips the underwear down. His angel resting against the table to assist manoeuvre them off. Without hesitation, he claims the little pearl peaking through his angel's folds with his mouth. Sucking, tongue lapping as his angel clutches his shoulders.

"Crowley," he breathes, forcing himself to lay back on the table.

The pulses of pleasure flowing into him are intese and sharp. Each flick of his tongue sending barbs piercing his essence with need. Slipping two fingers inside his angel, he finds the little bundle of nerves and slowly begins dragging over it. Each thrust of his fingers, causing his angel to moan. Hands stroking through his hair.

He takes his time, slowly building his angel's ecstasy until Aziraphale's legs are trembling, gasping his name on strangled keens. Neither caring what the humans could hear. He slips a third finger inside, thrusting harder, firmly working his tongue.

Aziraphale cries his release. Legs clamping around his husband, hands fisted tightly in crimson locks. The world around him falling away, as Crowley works him past the point of oversensitivity.

He stands, fingers still gently massaging the nerves just inside his angel's effort. "I want to make love to you, dove." He opens his robe and pulls himself free of his briefs.

"Take me." he whimpers. Rolling his hips, pushing himself down on long elegant fingers.

Crowley takes his effort in hand, in one slow press, he sheaths himself. He begins to thrust forcefully, holding his angel's hips for leverage. It isn't long before his angel is nearing that delicious height again. His name a pleading prayer for more. He obliges by quickening the rhythm. He nearly comes undone by the sight of Aziraphale writhing beneath him. "Come for me, dove."

Aziraphale complies, effort constricting around him as buries himself deep within his angel. The waves of climax searing through him. He gasps, trying to maintain control. When the last wave subsides, he slips free, easing his angel up. Sitting in his chair, he assists his angel into his lap. "Dove, I want to have you like this."

His husband's words are nearly lost in the rapturous haze, but he nods his consent. Crowley's hands guide him into place. Seating himself firmly on his husband's length. Almost on instinct, he rolls his hips. Dragging a groan from deep within Crowley's chest. Resting back, he uses the armrests to help set the pace. Each slide of his husband's arousal making his legs threaten to give out. "C-Crowley ple-please...I c-can't..."

He gathers his angel into his arms, "I've got you." his fingers slip between Aziraphale's folds, finding the little bud. He thrusts up, caressing small circles. Setting a steady pace. Their moans echoing each other as the spiral to their pinnacle. The sensations from his angel crashing into him in relentless pulses.

Aziraphale turns his head, desperately seeking a kiss. It is granted, mouths lock as they both tumble over the peek. Crowley spilling into him. Both panting, Aziraphale collapsed against his husband. Contented to be held for as long as his Crowley desires.

7:00 pm  
Moscow

They arrive at the Sheremetyevo A.S. Pushkin international airport precisely on schedule, demonic influence perhaps having played a role. Both resplendent in their formal attire. Crowley in a perfectly tailored black velvet suit, with a matte satin shawl lapel. The look completed with a black dress shirt and matte black satin tie held in place by a little gunmetal serpent pin. Firey hair left loose in soft flowing waves. Sunglasses perfectly in place.

He led them out into the frigid Russian air, though surprisingly snow had yet to fall upon the most northern of countries. Waiting, as expected, was the Bently. The antique beauty was miraculously warm for their journey. Queen’s A Winter’s Tale playing softly as they made their way to their destination.

The Bently stops at the Bolshoi Theatre. The grandeur of the Greek neoclassical architecture on full display. Towering marble columns, a relief of two angels on the pediment, and a magnificent bronze Apollo driving his quadriga. The exterior lights making the white facade seem to glow.  
Crowley is quick to exit and hurry around to assist his angel from the car.

Besides the few pedestrians milling about, and a group of tourists snapping a few photos, the building appears relatively deserted. Aziraphale can’t help but note there are no other people attempting to enter, what he would imagine typically busy theatre. Though his husband does not seem in the least deterred.

They walk to the front, and Crowley opens the door ushering Aziraphale inside. Like the exterior, there is no sign of any other theatregoers insight. ‘Are we at the right theatre? Perhaps we are early? Surely not it is nearly eight o’clock.’ Aziraphale surveys their surroundings. Crisp white walls and railings, red carpet, and marble floors one could almost see their reflection in. The building was impressive at a word. “Crowley?” he finally whispers.

“Yeah, dove?” Crowley answers without pausing. Leisurely walking them through the empty hall.

“Are we early?” Aziraphale asks, ears straining to hear any sound of life. The only voice to be heard is his own echoing back.

“Nope. Right on time,” he says confidently.

“Are we at the right theatre?” ‘Surely, you know what you are doing. But we are the only ones here.’

“Yep,” he says, emphasising the p. “Right theatre, right on time. Have a little faith in me, dove.” He says stopping them outside heavy red curtains trimmed in gold fringe.

‘I do have faith in you. I just have no idea what is going on.’ “Well, where is everybody?” he asks, brows furrowed in confusion.

Crowley pulls aside the curtain revealing the theatre beyond. “Who said n’ythin about there being n’yone else here?”

Aziraphale walks into the box, realising instantly this was, in fact, the Presidential box. Before him is the vast, opulent theatre devoid of any other soul. Ornate gold leaf gracing nearly every surface that wasn’t covered in red velvet. Overhead a fresco of Apollo and the muses watch over the whole of the theatre. A massive chandelier glittering with large crystals. ‘Reminds me of your throne, dearest.’ “Crowley, my love, are we the only ones that will be attending this performance?”

“Whot? They had n’thin on for the night. The rest of Russia’s elite are over at the Kremlin. Figured you would enjoy a private viewing.” he says with an innocent shrug.

‘I am not going to ask how you managed this.’ “Well, I am grateful, dearest. Thank you.” he gives his husband a quick peck.

They take their seats at the front of the box. Crowley intentionally positioning them as close as possible. With a snap of his fingers, the lights dim. A bewildered orchestra makes their way into the pit. They set up their music and make final adjustments to their instruments. The conductor arrives, glancing around the empty auditorium. Deciding he must have had too much to drink and turns to his musicians. The overture begins. The bright, lilting tune fills the room as the curtains rise. A family of dancers, two parents and three girls take to the stage. Enacting walking through the snow towards a party. As they exit the stage, another procession takes its place.

Aziraphale grasps his husband’s hand in excitment. The scene changes to a grand ballroom. A Christmas party with boys wielding sabres, and dancing with their dolls. Adults slowly filtering in dressed in victorian fashion. Complete with powdered wigs, Aziraphale never entirely understood.

The performance is dazzling. Herr Drosselmeyer entrancing the children with his magic and clockwork dolls. The little menace Fritz breaks Marie’s nutcracker. And, though he knew it was coming Aziraphale scowls at the boy’s behaviour.

The party winds down and all the guests leave. Save for Drosselmeyer. Who through a feat of magic causes the Christmas tree to grow to an impossible height. Or is it that Marie shrinks. Aziraphale is not sure.

A column of pink smoke rises from the centre of the stage, bringing with it the Mouse King and his army. Toy soldiers march against them. Marie looks on in fear as her brave Nutcracker wars with the Mouse King. Aziraphale is lost in the gripping performance.

Crowley silently watches his angel the whole while. Each little shift in expression, each delighted smile, grimace of worry, the look of sadness as the nutcracker lay wounded on stage. Then the sigh of relief as he rises. No longer a doll but a man dancing with Marie in triumph. His angel clings to his arm. ‘Absolutely worth it.’

As the couple dance through the snowflakes, Aziraphale senses his husband’s eyes upon. “Dearest, the ballet is on the stage.”

“Yeah, but I have something far better to watch.” His angel rewards him with a bashful smile.

The first act concludes, and Aziraphale stands in applause. The dancers to bow to their audience of two as the curtain falls. “I have to say this performance is far better than the original.”

“I am glad you are enjoying it, dove.” Crowley kisses his angel’s hand.

Intermission takes no time at all. As there is no need to wait for humans to return from the toilet or smoke breaks. The second act is just as wonderful as the first. The former nutcracker, no prince triumphing over the Mouse King. Spanish hot chocolate, Arabian coffee, Chinese tea, Russian candy cane, and Dutch marzipan comprising the court of the Land of Sweets all dancing for their prince and human guest.

As the Waltz of the Flowers begins Aziraphale snuggles into his husband’s side. Head resting gently on his shoulder. ‘This is far better than I could have ever hoped.’

The ballet finishes in a joyous celebration. All of the dancers rejoicing in the marriage of the prince and his princess Marie. Only for the later to wake and find it had all been a beautiful dream. Aziraphale stands, cheering exuberantly as each dancer takes a bow. His husband claps as well, though with less fervent praise.

He smiles back on Crowley when a sudden flutter makes him freeze. A hand goes to his belly in surprise. There is a quick succession of taps as he begins to laugh in cry in the most delighted glee. His husband already on his feet, trying to decern what is happening. “Crowley!” he exclaims, grabbing his hand, placing it on his stomach.

“What? What is it, dove?” Crowley please for understanding on what has taken over his angel.

“Can you feel it?” He beams up at his husband in wonder. ‘It’s remarkable. I have never felt anything like it.’

Realisation dawns, “You felt them move?” He doesn’t feel anything. Just the layers of lace and beading. “Sorry, Aziraphale I can’t feel them,” he admits reluctantly.

He quickly looks around them. The dancers have already disappeared from the stage. Aziraphale pulls them both back into their seats. Lifting the tulle, he moves his husband’s hand to his bare belly. “There. Just then. Like a little flutter.”

Again he feels nothing. Hesitantly he pulls his hand away, “It might be too early for me to feel.”

“Oh, dearest. I...It’s extraordinary.” Tears fill his eyes. ‘Today has been so wonderful and now this.’ “I felt you. We love you so much little one.” In his overwhelming bliss, he throws himself into his husband’s lap. Kissing him feverishly. “Crowley...I can’t...wait for you to feel them.”

Once his angel has finished peppering him with kisses, he brushes a ringlet behind Aziraphale’s ear. ‘I wish I could make you this happy every day.’ “I will when they are ready. Just needs to bake a bit longer, isall.” He says kissing the tip of his angel’s nose.

Back on the plane, Aziraphale isn’t sure if it is the aircraft or if he, in fact, is floating. His mind is singing with music and joy. Everything seems a bit brighter. Laying in Crowley’s arms, he feels sighs his happiness, “Dearest, thank you.”

“You are welcome, dove. Did you have fun?” ‘Stupid question. You are practically glowing.’

“Stupendous.” ‘I will find a way to repay you.’

“Perhaps next year we will see it in London. Make it a yearly tradition. Nutcracker around the world.” Crowley says, sweeping his hand before them dramatically.

“Really?” He smiles up at his husband.

“Absolutely. So...wha’do you say?” He asks, holding his family tighter.

“I would like that.” Aziraphale agrees. ‘London, Paris, New York. Wait.’ He sits up, “We will have a seven-month-old this time next year.”

Crowley peers down at his angel’s belly. ‘Hadn’t thought of that. Seven months?’ “I...uh...I am sure we can get Bookgirl to watch them for us. For a couple of hours. Or Sera.” He says with uncertainty. “Might need both.”

Laying back down, he once again gives himself over to happiness, “We have plenty of time to plan.”


	31. You Are Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera joins them. It's just fluff...or is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Had to rework the next few chapters to make sure things flowed right.

Sunday 22 December  
10:19 am  
London 

As Christmas neared, Aziraphale was busy making sure everything was in order for their guest’s arrival. Beds miraculously freshened, rooms free from dust or clutter, and what food could be prepared in advance was. The majority of the guests already had presents perfectly wrapped waiting under their tree. 

Ysabel had taken up residence in their guest cottage the previous day. Selecting the largest of the three bedrooms for herself. Crowley had insisted on being the one to help bring in her belongings, citing the mandatory weight restriction of pregnancy for his reasoning. Aziraphale wanted to object but figured it was futile to argue. 

The senior of their two witchly friends kept to herself that evening. Politely declining Aziraphale’s offer to join them for supper. He had wanted to insist, but Ysabel would have none of it. Crowley had reassured him that if their midwife wanted company, she knew where to find them. 

Today they sat outside of Head Office. Crowley was irritably checking his phone every minute Sera did not appear. “Where the bloody Hell is she?” he grumbles mostly to himself. “I told her we were on our way over an hour ago.”

“Perhaps she had duties to attend too.” Aziraphale offers to try to calm his husband’s growing discontent. ‘We’ve only been here thirty minutes. No need to be in such a tither.’

“She could have said as much.” he barks at the excuse. “Could have sent a text.” ‘I have so much still to do. Damn it Sera. If I could just use magic.’

Aziraphale regards his husband. Sure Crowley had a flair for the dramatics, but he could tell something was weighing on his beloved. “Why are you so agitated?” This was said with great affection and concern. Though by the sudden turn of his husband’s head, it was taken as an accusation.

“Ngk...I...M’not.” he stutters, trying to find a more eloquent response, coming up impressively short. ‘I have three bloody days to get everything ready, and I am losing precious time. Fucking come on Sera.’ 

Eyebrows raised in disbelief Aziraphale straightens his tartan scarf, “You most definitely are.” 

“I just…” ‘Can’t tell you. Fuck.’ He sighs in frustration. “Never mind.” Resting back against the seat in defeat, he crosses his arms over his chest, studying the pristine roof of the Bentley.

‘Today was supposed to be fun. You are going to let whatever it is that has you in such a foul humour ruin this day with your sister. Unless…’ “Dearest?”

“Yeah?” Crowley lets his head list to the side. Only to have his mouth instantly claimed by soft, warm lips. For the briefest of moments, the exquisite taste of honey and sunshine was all there was. His angel starts to pull away. 

Refusing to allow the moment to end, he follows his angel’s retreat. Deepening the kiss, he cups Aziraphale’s flushed cheeks. Crowley drinks in the soft moan that he elicits with a sweep of his tongue against the sensitive spot at the roof of his angel’s mouth. His hand slipped under the hem of tan skirt feeling the smooth, plump thigh beneath. Warm waves of love seeping into his essence, stealing from him all thought of time and urgent matters needing his attention. 

Stopping his husband’s hand from seeking higher, he pulls back. Crowley’s features were relaxed, if not a bit pleading. “Better?” he asks, brushing a stray fiery wisp behind his husband’s ear. 

‘You do that far too well.’ “It’s a start,” he says, leaning in for a quick peck. 

There is a knock on the window behind him. A woman peers in, orange eye shining bright as she waves to them. Feminine angular features, ginger blonde hair cropped in a blunt bob mid-neck, and an all too familiar exuberance to her interruption identified her immediately. Crowley exits the Bentley, “Is that really you?” He asks, scrutinising her corporation. 

She was his height, thanks to a pair of white pumps that complimented her overall immaculate attire. Sera wore a sharp white pantsuit, turtle neck, and a simple strand of pearls. “Is that really whot you are wearing? You look like a porcelain doll going to a board meeting.” ‘Like all those other stiffs up there. You could have stolen the lot from Gabriel's closet. It’s not you. You shouldn’t try to pretend.’

"Is this that awful?" Sera asks, glancing over herself. Fearing she was committing some fashion faux pas she was not aware of. Only having the other angels to reference for acceptable Earthly raiments, she figured this would do. Crowley being the one exception, though she couldn’t emulate his esthetic. 

"Well, not if that is what you want. Just....expected...oh I don’t know. Something a bit more...you.” he says with a cock of his head and a sneer of uncertainty.

"I…" She considers her brother’s meaning. It was a nice suit by her estimation. Fitting perfectly to her new corporation. White was a bit on the nose for an angel, and a bit bland. She knew he was right. This wasn’t her per se. 

Seeing his sister’s earlier excitement diminish, he regrets the comment. "C'mon. We'll give you a proper introduction to London. Here." he hands her a credit card.

Taking the bit of plastic, she looks at him in confusion, “What is this?”

“Money. You want to buy something just hand a human that card.” ‘Easier than teaching you how the whole monetary system works.’ Pointing a finger at his sister, “don’t forget to get it back.” ‘Satan knows what a human could do with limitless funds.’

“Alight.” She nods, tucking the object into her jacket pocket. "Where are we going first?" 

Crowley opens the door and adjusts the seat to allow his sister to climb in. Once she is seated, having greeted his angel, he slides in behind the wheel. “Let start with a bit of spectacle.”

They visit many of the usual tourist destinations throughout the city, first being, the London Eye. Sera pressing to the glass with the same spritely wonder as the six-year-old beside her. Crowley points out various landmarks. Aziraphale providing little anecdotes that one might not find in any historical literature. When they had at last completed the revolution Sera had her own ideas of there she would like to visit next. 

Thanks to their supernatural nature, they were able to tour many areas restricted from public access and in record time. As such constructs meant nothing when one could simply stop time altogether. What should have taken the trio days to accomplish were mere hours to the human’s perception. 

At the Tower of London or the White Tower as Aziraphale insisted on calling it. Modern customs be damned. Sera possed for a photo wearing the complete royal regalia. At first, Aziraphale was aghast, but after some persuasion made no further protest. Marvelling at the craftsmanship of each piece they disturbed in the Jewel House. 

Unwilling to have the soles of his feet covered in painful blisters, again, Crowley left his angel to show Sera around the sanctified sites. Taking lead on the many gardens around the city. Several specimens he made note of for later projects at their cottage. They ended their day of exploration at St James Park. Ducks quacking happily as Sera tossed them duck safe pellets, Aziraphale had insisted upon. 

When the last of her offering is cast, she turns to her guides, “What next?”

Aziraphale links arms with the siblings and turns them towards the park’s exit, “What do you say to the Ritz?”

5:00 pm  
The Ritz

Admittedly this portion of their day was purely selfish on Aziraphale’s part. Though as a first introduction to food, he figured he could do worse by Sera. Who, at that moment, was savouring the elegantly presented first course. 

“This is amazing. What is it called?” she asks scooping another dainty bite onto her fork.

“Crab,” Aziraphale informs, patting the corners of his mouth. “It is quite exceptional.”

Her fork stalls just before her mouth. Sera gapes at Aziraphale in alarm. “Crab? Like those little creatures that scavenge on the ocean floor?” she asks, mimicking the crawling motion with her hand. The thought of eating something that sustained itself on detritus seemed very unappealing. 

Seeing Sera’s apprehension, he smiles, “Best not to think about it.” he takes another bite to reassure her.

Accepting her friend’s advice, she follows suit. It was delicious, despite its origins. Savoury, sweet, tangy, each new sensation she was quickly coming to appreciate. “This is so interesting. Who knew eating could be so...so…”

“Ssssinfully good?” Crowley hisses smiles mischievously. The clatter of Sera’s fork as it hit the crockery and look of utter horror was precisely the reaction he hoped for. 

“Sinful?” She gasps, covering her mouth. It was good, too good. Fear for her grace dissolves the Seraph into pleading prayer, “I didn’t mean too...Almighty forgive me.”

Aziraphale admonishes him with a stern glare. ‘Your no fun.’ “Calm down Sera. This one’s been eating for centuries.” He declares, throwing his arm around Aziraphale’s chair. “Hasn’t done my angel in yet.” 

Sera looks to Aziraphale for consolation. “It is fine Sera. Crowley is only teasing.” Once again, he gives his impish husband a scolding glance before returning to the matter at hand. 

They finish the first course, Crowley containing any further ribbing at his sister’s expense. The entree arrives, and both angels hum their mutual agreement of its sumptuous flavour. 

“The lamb is divine. Is it not?” Aziraphale asks of his new culinary companion. 

“Lamb?” Again she stares in horror at her plate. The sweet face of the little animal she was currently consuming called to mind. 

“Yep,” Crowley responds, not trying to hide his amusement. 

“Why would anyone kill a baby sheep?” she asks nearly in tears. 

“Ahh...um...well…” ‘I never even stopped to consider.’ Aziraphale feels quite guilty, not feeling guilty about his lengthy history of eating many of God’s creatures. He looks to Crowley to aid his failing ability to explain. 

“They taste good.” Crowley surmises with a shrug. “Listen, most cultures around the world eat lamb. It’s just food. Same as...as...I dunno...an apple. All living at one point, eh?”

Leaning in, she whispers, “Do they eat other baby animals?” 

“Oh, yes. Some who haven’t even been born yet.” Crowley says with delight, though pretending to be serious. ‘This is too easy.’

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shrieks. “Don’t tell her such things.” ‘She will never eat with me again at this rate.’

“Whot? Whot do you think eggs are?” he asks in feigned indignation. 

“Perhaps we should move on to dessert.” Aziraphale politely signals their waiter with a tentative raise of his hand. The young man hurries over and after a quick explanation removes the offending fare. 

A short time later he returns with the requested final course, or courses. Fig leaf mousse, Grand Marnier souffle, Yorkshire rhubarb, chestnut meringue, blackberry souffle, apple tarte Bourdaloue, and of course a British cheese plate are spread across the table. Aziraphale wonders for a moment if perhaps he had gotten a bit carried away, ordering every dessert. But when Crowley offered him a scoop of the blackberry souffle and accompanying yoghurt sorbet, all concerns were forgotten. He didn’t even notice the curious look Sera regards them with. 

“Are there any dead animals in this?” asks Sera, poking at the fig leaf mousse with her spoon. 

“Probably an egg or two,” Aziraphale admits, refusing to identify that particular confection. Deciding quickly, he would rather not have to explain the difference between mousse and a moose. 

Trusting her brother’s spouse, she spoons a minuscule bite. The creamy yet airy dessert melts in her mouth. Rich and fruity flavours tantalising her corporation’s tastebuds. “It’s like...nothing...it…” She can’t find suitable words to articulate the novel experience. Overwhelmed with the complexity of it all. “I like food.”

A silver trolly is brought to their table. “Ah. Here we are. Crepes.” Aziraphale says in bubbly delight. 

The server sets the wonderful orange caramel sauce alight, brandy the accelerant. Sera, dazzled by the whole display, watches with fascination as the waiter swirls the pan. Each of them was served the French creation. Crowley intending for his to go wanting until his angel politely asked for them.

Sera took a bite, slouching into an appreciative groan. “Nope. These are my favourite. Crepes?”

“Yes. The French are very adept at producing delectable culinary experiences.” 

“Good enough to die for eh, Aziraphale?” Crowley smirks, sipping his coffee.

'Really? You have to bring that up?' “I wanted to see you." He admits cutting the delicate pancake into a dainty portion. "The crepes were merely an additional incentive." 

Crowley leans in for a citrus-infused kiss. "Good to know I rank higher than dessert and brioche."

Watching the exchange, Sera felt a surge of curiosity though she made no comment. Taking another bite to distract herself. “Are all restaurants this good?”

“Hardly.” Crowley scoffs. Thinking about the filthy eateries, he visited to amass his army of rodent infiltrators for his last social experiment. 

“This is one of many excellent establishments in London. It may be my favourite, but you should try others. Perhaps you will find something even more to your liking.” Aziraphale smiles, finishing his last nibble. Only to have his plate replaced with his husbands. "Thank you, dearest." He knew it was a foregone conclusion but it never hurt to be polite.

“Why is this one your favourite?” inquires Sera.

“It is very important to us I suppose. We had lunch here the day I agreed to help avert the apocalypse.”

Crowley smiles at the linen-covered table. “And again after we survived the attempt on our lives.”

Sera's full attention is on them. Shifting between her brother and her friend. “How did you two do it? There are theories circulating. Though I don't think anyone truly has the right of it." 

"Eh…" Crowley squeaks in contemplation. 'Even if I knew you wouldn't breathe a word of this, I still can't tell you. I won't jeopardise my angel for anyone.' "Just got lucky I suppose." 'In more ways than one.'

Sera knew by the way they both glance at one another there was more to the story. But, if Crowley didn't want to share she figures there must be a good reason. She turns back to her meal, savouring each bite in content silence.

Once their table is cleared and the check presenter is laid before them, Crowley passes it to his sister. "Tuck the card in there. The human will pick it up and bring it back. You'll have to sign your name on a piece of paper. Just scribble whatever you want. It doesn't really matter."

"My name?" She contemplated. Seraphiel was her God-given name. Sera the one her favourite sibling bestowed upon her. Perhaps she might do as Crowley did and select an Earthly name for herself. 

She does as instructed. Their waiter returns, doing precisely as her brother said he would. Opening the little book, she retrieves the card and takes up the pen. "My name?" She asks again, squinting up at Crowley.

"Whatever you want. They don't really care." He says dismissively.

She signs her prefered name, Sera. Smiling as she closes the book. 

On their way out of the restaurant, a blue book catches her eye. Reading the cover, she halts. “I’ll meet you in the car. I forgot something.” 

Aziraphale offers to wait there for her, but knowing it to be a lie Crowley helpfully ushers his angel from the building. Besides her clothing and credit card, Sera had nothing to leave. Whatever his sister was up to, they couldn't be present. 

On their way back to the cottage, Sera asks the pair a flurry of questions. Very pointed ones regarding what it was like to be pregnant. Prompted by Aziraphale grabbing Crowley's hand and pressing it to their child. The latter sadly informing his angel he felt nothing. Most, however, pertain to Earth and all the wonders thereof. All the little bits of information that were left out of update reports and idol gossip. The more she questioned, the more she realised just how removed most of Heaven was from their charges. 

When at last they pulled in their garage Aziraphale was in the middle of describing how he ended up in Edinburgh, and Crowley had once again pandered to his wishes. 

"And then he said, quite beautifully might I add, age cannot wither, nor custom stale his infinite variety. Which Bill decided to use in a later play. Your brother has such a way with words. The young man was a wonderful actor, wasn't he?" Aziraphale smiles fondly recalling their brief little rendezvous.

Turning off the Bentley Crowley turns to his angel, "You do realise I was talking about you, right?" 

Blinking in confusion Aziraphale is at a loss. 'Me? Surely not. I am rather dull. Can't be.' "Truly?" He finally asks after a long pause.

'I shouldn't be surprised.' "Yes, angel. Age does not wither and all that. You were the only one in the bloody theatre that isn't dust in the ground by now." The look of disbelief on Aziraphale's face faded into a bright blush. Crowley exited the car with just a bit more swagger to his already pendulous gate.

Sera hurries to follow. Determined to hear the rest of their tale. It was far more entertaining than anything the others of her kind ever managed to get up to. They were seated in their lounge. Aziraphale tucked into Crowley's side sipping a hot cup of cocoa, when she asks the one question the pair had failed to answer. "So how did you two finally agree to work together?"

Crowley looks to his angel with a fond grin. "Wessex."

"537AD." Aziraphale supplies with his own affectionate smile. Their guest nearly forgotten as he gazes up at his husband.

Crowley breaks into an animated telling. Arms gesturing, face lending the appropriate gravity to the scene as he spoke, "Aziraphale came out of this miserable fog in that God-forsaken place. Kitted out in the shiniest suit of armour I had ever seen. Fur cloak the whole lot. I was kinda being a shit at the time. You were working for Arthur. Wasn't half bad, was he?" He asks, looking back for information.

"Arthur? He made plenty of poor choices, let me tell you." Aziraphale attests, peering into his empty winged mug. "Sired a son on his own half-sister."

Crowley nods at his remembering the brash youth with more anger than brains. "Yeah, Mordred. He's who I was working for. Hell's orders being what they were." Resting back against their sofa, he sighs. "I was so embarrassed for you to see me like that."

Aziraphale shifts subtly to attempt to make eye contact with his husband. Serpent eyes, however, were studying their ceiling, unblinking. "Is that why you kept your visor down?"

"Possibly," Crowley says, mimicking his high pitched response all those years ago. The pitiable look here receives spurs him away from his brooding self-loathing he was want to do. "Anyway, we had just been bumping into one another up until that point. I wanted something more...permanent. So when I couldn't take another moment of being away from my angel I could send a message and there Aziraphale would be." 

Aziraphale's heart ached to hear it. Part of him had suspected, but to hear the sentiment spoken aloud bit into his centuries of guilt. "Is that the real reason?"

Nearly pulling away, Crowley gawks at his angel. "Whot? I was a lovesick demon. What were a few good deeds here or there? I'd have done them for you if you'd have asked. I'd have done anything for you not to look at me as your enemy. As something to be hated." Like so many of his familiar's kind. 'A snake in the grass.'

Cerulean eyes seem to peer past the careful facade of his guise, as only Aziraphale could. One he was far more practised with than his true self. He wondered and not for the first time what his angel had ever found in him worthy of loving. 'Don't look at me like that. I know what you are thinking, and it is not your fault.'

'Hated? This is my doing.' Aziraphale clung to Crowley's arm. Heart aching for his beloved. 'I am so sorry.' "I could never hate you, Crowley."

Holding his angel all the tighter, to reassure there was never any hard feelings, he continues, "All the same. I made the offer. Which Aziraphale flatly refused."

He didn't move. His husband's strong embrace more comforting than Heaven ever had been, "I was… scared." He admits studying Crowley's black leather-clad knees. " I wanted to agree so readily. I thought perhaps you were tempting me. That's what I tried to tell myself anyway. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He purrs, kissing silky ringlets. 'S'whot I did. Tempt. Didn't expect someone as clever as you to blindly make a deal with a demon. Even if it was me.' "But then two days later Aziraphale was in my tent. Snuck through my entire camp, unarmed, mind. Right past the nastiest bunch of cutthroats you could imagine." Crowley says with affectionate pride. 

"They were all drunk." Aziraphale asserts. 

"Liked to keep them that way. Happy, and drunk enough they couldn't saddle a horse." 'Can't pillage and plunder if you can't stand.'

"You were drunk as well." 

"We had just had our first fight." 'Never seen you storm off before. Thought I'd taken it too far. I just loved you so much I had to try.' "Didn't think I'd ever see you again." He twists the little serpent around his angel's finger. Watching the ebon scales glint in the light. 'Then, you said yes.' Huffing a laugh, he smiles at both fond memories.

Sera watched them intently. Both her brother's and Aziraphale's devotion we're plain for any to see. Eyes, saying more than words ever could. It was foreign to her. That type of love, anyway. But it was love all the same. Such a sight was beautiful to behold. 

When at last, the seconds turn into minutes, she spoke, "What happened then?"

He didn't return her gaze. His world was nestled against him. Somehow looking more beautiful every moment they shared together. "Aziraphale agreed. We spent several days drinking. And everything went on without us. Turned out alright."

"Alright?" Aziraphale gasps at the less than accurate conclusion. "Mordred nearly killed Arthur."

"Yeah but he killed 'em. War was over."

"I suppose." He mumbles. 

Her brother's admission to defying or deceiving Hell many times over was not what she had expected when she had seen him in the Chambers of The Council. She hadn't actually suspected the infamous Crowley to be her brother at all. And now here he was. A demon yes, but still very much the angel she had known so long ago. "Crowley if you didn't want to do Hell's bidding why tempt Eve?" 

Aziraphale felt his husband tense beside him. Golden eyes averted from Sera's. For all the moments Crowley gave of himself to protect Aziraphale, he could not but protect his husband from the darkness that the question surely stoked. He takes Crowley's hand in his own, "He didn't have a choice." 'That is the truth, and all anyone needs to know.' "Dearest, tell Sera about our honeymoon." The change of topic would discourage any further inquiries into the matter.

Crowley had only made it to their dance under the stars when he felt his angel resting heavily against him. Breath slow and steady. Winged mug sitting on the coffee table. 

"Crowley is Aziraphale alright?" Sera asks with a whisper. The casualness of her brother the only thing keeping her from overly worrying.

Crowley caresses his angel's delicate, peaceful features. "Yeah. Just sleeping. It's late." He kisses the top of his angel's head. "Dove, let's get you to bed." A lethargic groan was Aziraphale's only attempt at protest. "C'mon. I'll carry you if I have to."

Opening his eyes but a slit he frowns. 'You absolutely won't.' Crowley helps him to his feet and up their stairs. By the sound of the third set of feet on the wooden steps, Aziraphale knew Sera was just behind them.

"Sleeping? We don't need sleep." She whispers in her brother's ear.

'Defying expectation. S'whot we are known for.' "We don't reproduce either." The evidence of that falsity clear on display. "Yet here we are." As they near their bedroom door, he turns back to his tag along. "Listen, I'm going to lay down as well. Just stay out of Aziraphale's library."

"I don't mind, dearest." He assures weakly.

"Library's off-limits." Crowley rushes to say. Knowing his angel would be heartbroken if a single book were harmed.

"Can I sleep?" She questions with all sincerity. 

"Suppose so. Just lay down close your eyes and relax. N'thin to it. Your room is down the hall first door on the left." Crowley says, pointing at the identified door. 

Covering a wide yawn Aziraphale lists into his husband. "Goodnight Sera."

"Good night Aziraphale. Brother." She leaves them, hurrying off to experiment with this new prospect.

Crowley assists him into a satin night gown, and into their nest. "I like your sister." He smiles, melting into the mass of bedding. 

For himself, Crowley figures just briefs would do tonight. He slips in, holding his family close. "So you've said."

"I love you, dearest." 

"I love you too, dove. Get some sleep."

3:00 am

A great inferno raged before him. Orange, brilliant, and terrible. The powers of Hell flowed from a great fissure in the Earth. Humans ran screaming to escape the slaughter. Crowley was there standing against the unrelenting chaos that was determined to destroy everything they held dear. He glances back. Golden serpent eyes apologising, saying his final goodbye. 

Aziraphale calls out to him, but no sound leaves his mouth. He tries to go to his husband. No matter how hard he ran, he could not close the distance. Collapsing to his knees, he screams in silence, pleading for God to deliver his most beloved from destruction. ‘Not him. Please not him. Please don’t take him from us.’

Crowley roars as he is consumed in flame. Demons, like a great swarm flood through the streets. Then everything stills. No sound, no movement, it’s as if God held Her breath. Crowley is there in the darkness. Arms hanging limp at his side. He stumbles, then falls. 

Aziraphale cries his horror. His essence raging against the incomprehensible. Eyes burning, heart-shattering into millions of particles to fine to be seen. His mate, his husband, his eternal love, gone. 

“CROWLEY!” he screams lurching from their nest. Mind frantic and confused, searching their room. The nest beside him is empty and cool. He calls out, “Crowley!” still trying to separate the horrible nightmare from the waking world. Fear and desperation causing his corporation to tremble. 

He makes to leave their nest, to search their cottage for Crowley. Before he could set his foot to the floor, his husband stumbles into their room. Body dripping. Hair wet and clinging to his shoulders. A towel wrapped around his waist, fist clutching it closed. 

“ANGEL!” he shouts, searching the room for signs of danger. Finding nothing but a very terrified angel, he relaxes his aggressive posture. “Dove? What happened?”

Relief washes over him. His head still reeling from the horrible images. ‘Almighty be praised. It was a dream. Only a silly dream.’ “I am sorry dearest. Bad dream it would seem. I woke, and you were…” ‘Hold on a tick. Why were you not in bed? What time is it? You are more eager to sleep than I am.’ He looks to the world beyond their window. It was still dark, with no sign of morning insight. “Dearest?” he regards his husband’s state of undress. “Where have you been?”

“Ah...well, I...you see…” Crowley stutters. ‘I can’t tell you.’

“Crowley?” ‘You are hiding something.’ He watches his husband shifting uncomfortably, chewing on his lip. 

‘Shit, shit, shit!’ Any explanation would give his angel far too much to work with. Lying was easy, but lying to Aziraphale was a whole separate matter. He slunk over to their nest. Sitting on the edge, he took his angel’s hand. “Listen, dove, I am not gonna lie to you…” 

“Alright,” he acknowledges softly. Crowley looks very serious, far too severe for this to be some trivial matter. All anxieties forgotten, he is certain this was part of the month long riddle he had yet to answer. 

“So, I can’t tell you.” he braces for the response.

A little pouting frown furrowed his brow. ‘I thought we were past such silly nonsense. We are married. I have chosen you above all else. What could you possibly not tell me? I must get to the bottom of this’ “Can’t or won’t?” 

“Both,” admitted Crowley. Thumb sweeping over his angel’s knuckles absentmindedly to soothe himself. 

“Crowley you can tell me anything.” Aziraphale wriggles closer to his husband. Gentle fingertips turning Crowley’s dour expression to meet his gaze. “I promise not to overreact.”

It felt like falling sometimes when he stared too long into his angel’s bright wonderous sapphires. Not in the sulfuric terrifying way of his Fall. More like melding into warm water. Sinking down into a weightless blissful peace he would rather drown in then leave. Coaxing him to relent and give himself over to its embrace. “I’m…” The sound of his own voice draws him from the trance. “No. Not this,” he says more to remind himself than to his angel. ‘You almost got me there you little bastard.’

Undeterred, he seeks another opening to wear down his husband’s defences. Fingers trail from his husband’s jaw down his neck. Down the centre of his lean body to the towel that now sat loose. “Is there a reason you are nude?”

If asked, the shiver that ran through his body was from being damp, and the chill in their bedroom. Not from his angel plucking that thread that was so thoroughly wrapped around a ringed little finger so many thousands of years ago. “M’not nude,” he states, fighting for composure.

“Is there something under this towel?” Aziraphale asks with a playful pout. Fingers dipping just beneath the cloth, to trace along the bare flesh. 

“No.” he growls, swallowing down his desire. Wishing for more but knew it came with the expectation of a confession. On the verge of staying his angel’s hand, he is startled when the towel is thrown open.

“Nude.” Aziraphale asserts, shifting up quickly to straddle his husband. Hands resting gently on his shoulders. ‘Let’s see who’s will is stronger, dearest.’ Feeling his husband’s effort grow firm beneath him, he rests down. The sheer fabric of his undergarments the only thing separating them. 

'Vexing. Tempting. Wicked.' “Alright fine.” he growls, struggling for some semblance of restraint. "Yes, there is a reason. No, I won’t explain.”

'Come now. You are just making this harder on yourself.' He takes his husbands hands and brings them to his hips. Strong hands grip him firmly as leans in. Lips brushing Crowley's, but no more. “I didn’t hear you in our bath.”

“I used the g-guest shower.” he concedes helplessly. Making to seal their lips, his angel pulls back. 'Bastard minx.'

Nail scrape slowly up his husband's sides, to his back, earning him a needful groan. “And you can’t explain why?” he pouts once more. Eyes the picture of innocence.

“No... I mean yes…" his mind failing him, he fights for the remainder of his control. 'That's not fair. You can't look at me like that and do the things you are doing. For the love of whoever don't stop.' "Listen...r-remember our...wager? ”

Aziraphale smiles pulling his nightgown over his head. “The Christmas ornaments?” breast laying heavy between them. 

'Fuck fuck, fuck.' “Yeah, that one.” Everything in him wanted to relent and submit to his angel's demands. It would be easy and rewarded handsomely. His hands travel up Aziraphale's plump, perfect body. Gaze falling on the swell of his angel's belly. 'No.'

Watching his husband's mind at war with his desire caused Aziraphale to want to end the torment. Yet, he had a mission. One he would see completed “Obviously. I am to give you anything you ask as long as there is no danger.”

He closes his eyes. Focusing on anything other than the scintillating being in his lap. “Right…I am calling it in.” He rests back in their nest. Die cast. Results be what they may.

'Wily serpent now what are you up to?' “Calling it in? Whatever do you want?”

Crowley points a finger at his angel, “No questions. No snooping about. You can't go to the cottage or any of the other bedrooms. If you need something or someone you let me know, and I will handle it. And no asking anyone else.” 

'No! That is...I can't believe this. I should have known.' “So I am not permitted into any of the rooms in our house? I am not allowed in our guest cottage. And I can not discuss this with our friends? Does everyone know?” he demands, glaring his rebuke of the terms. Knowing he had lost this particular round.

Crowley shrugs, “Everyone sides the harlot and her demented old windbag.”

“Crowley I don’t like this.” 

“And that is why I am calling in my reward.” taking his angel's hands, thumbs massaging to reassure Aziraphale. “It’s not forever. Just until Christmas. Then I will tell you anything you want to know.”

He pouts down at their joined hands, “I don’t like you keeping secrets from me.”

“It’s not really a secret.” 

He tsks, looking away, “And what should I call it?” 

‘Please don’t be mad. It’s better than a lie.’ “I am not answering that. Are you going to agree to your wager?”

Aziraphale didn’t hurry to answer, unwilling to admit his defeat. Pulling his hands free from Crowley’s in irritation. “Seems I have little choice.” he climbs off his husband. Taking up the hated pillow and situating himself just so. 

Crowley slithers up behind his angel. Kissing Aziraphale’s shoulder, “Don’t be like that, dove. I promise I’ll tell you e'vrythin after Christmas.” 

“Fine. I trust you.” 'but i don't have to like it.' He holds his pillow all the tighter. 

‘Trading me in for the pillow, eh?’ Crowley chuckles at his fussy angel. Leaning over to kiss Aziraphale’s cheek. “Thanks, dove.” he purs into his angel’s ear.

Peering up at his husband, “I said, I trust you. I didn’t say I was pleased.” Craning his neck, he gave Crowley a quick peck before reclaiming his cushion. 

‘I know. Love you too.’ “Brat.” he teases, voice low and enticing. Pressing his body flush against his angel be breathes in Aziraphale’s unique scent. Hands caressing lush thighs, mouth reverently kissing his angel’s neck and shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale asks knowing all too well what his husband’s intentions are. 

“I want to make love to you. Will you let me, dove?”

“I want to make love to you too, dearest...” Aziraphale answers sweetly. His husband’s hand glides up to his hip. Slipping under his panties and dipping between his folds, finding the little bud. Aziraphale places his hand over his husband, Crowley stills. “After Christmas.”

“You glorious, beautiful bastard. Well done.’ Instead of pressing the matter Crowley settles into the nest, withdrawing his hand. “Can I at least hold you?”

“Of course, my love.” Aziraphale wiggles back against his husband. Strong arms indeed held him, nose nuzzled into his curls. ‘It’s only a few days. We can both manage a few days.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and kudos are appreciated. I make it a habit to respond to all comments. I love the feedback. If you have a criticism please be constructive. This is my first solo fic. I love these two and plan for this to be quite long. I hope to update at least once per week. Special Thanks to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for creating the perfect universe and beautiful cast of character that lend themselves so beautifully to fanfiction. I do not own these characters. I am just having a bit of fun.


	32. Birds Of A Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possibly a new romance? Dr Frances has some interesting news. Mostly fluff.

23 December  
8:00 am

Though winter officially began three days past, the skies were clear. England was still far too warm for anything remotely resembling snow to make an appearance anytime soon. The grounds around their cottage were bleak and stark. Trees lay bare, all plants not sheltered in their greenhouse were withered for their yearly hibernation. Yet, as the day neared for their anticipated gathering, a particular angel still held out hope that they might have a truly white Christmas.

Gazing out their kitchen window Aziraphale gave a defeated sigh. ‘I suppose it is too much to ask for.’

Crowley ever attune to his angel's mood glances up from the morning paper, "everything alright, dove?"

"It's nothing. Just me being an old silly," he says, returning his focus to avoid scorching his breakfast.

Crowley sat at their table, scowling at a particular article. A cup of coffee nearly forgotten at his elbow. “You sure we averted the apocalypse, angel?”

“Hmmm?” Aziraphale asks plating his perfectly scrambled eggs with their accompanying black pudding and fried bread. “Is there some calamity that I should be made aware of?”

“Does Boris Johnson count? The Hell are the humans thinking? One of Ligur’s former pet projects. And this whole Brexit nonsense.” he grumbles turning the page. “Bloody idiots.”

“Well, being the Almighty’s Earthly representative, I could intervene, I suppose.” Aziraphale offers, pouring cream into his teacup.

“No. Don’t go meddling. If they want that bell end let them have him. Suppose they could do worse. Humans survived Caligula. And Nero.” he flinches with a grimace at the memory of the two Emperors.

“Please don’t remind me,” Aziraphale says piercing a slice of black pudding. “By far, one of my greatest failures.” ‘Never heard the end of it from Gabriel.’ Scrunching his nose in disgust, “You know he burned people as torches? For parties, no less.”

“Yeah. One thing humans never lack. Limitless imagination on how to be cruel to one another. Wonder Hell was ever needed at all.” He thinks aloud. Turning to the next page finding an article about Christmas markets he would definitely be avoiding that afternoon.

“Good morning,” Sera says, gliding into the kitchen.

“Good morning Sera.” Aziraphale greets as she takes the seat next to him. Fresh fruit and pastries already provided in anticipation for their guest distaste for meat.

“Sleep well?” Crowley asks, eyes still focused on the paper.

“I did,” she says, looking over the delicious pastries, selecting one with little berries and sweetened cream cheese. “Took me a while, but I got the hang of it.” kicking her feet up in the empty chair, she takes a large bite of her breakfast. Humming at the contrasting flavours. “This is so good.” Scrutinizing her brother’s apparent lack of unnecessary sustenance, she wipes a flake of pastry from her mouth, “Why don’t you eat?”

Turning the page, he answers flippantly, “Not really my thing.”

She shifts forward, hooking her finger on the top of Crowley’s current preoccupation pulling it down, “What is your thing?”

‘I forgot how annoying you can be.’ Crowley pulls the paper free from Sera. Giving it a good pop turning away, “Plants, good music, movies, TV. Keeping that one over there happy.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders slump features softening with affection, “Which you do a marvellous job of, dearest love.”

“Didn’t last night,” he mumbles absently.

Looking to their guest in horror, he is relieved she didn’t catch his husband’s meaning. Bringing his tea to his lips, he retorts, “Well, you can solve that yourself.” ‘One simple admission and I am all yours.’

Folding his paper in frustration, he levels his angel with an exasperated frown, “You agreed.”

“I did not bring it up, dearest.” He sips his tea, before setting the cup down, primly, “That was your doing.” ‘

Though she didn’t understand what the pair were specifically discussing Sera could tell there was something amiss by the tone of the conversation. Something drastically different than all other interactions they had in her presence. “Is everything alright between you two?” She asks, feeling that perhaps she should leave.

“Yes. Perfectly.” Aziraphale answers quickly. “Your brother and I just disagree on a particular matter." 'Not our first, won’t be our last, I am sure.'

Crowley made no response. His angel answered effectively enough as far as he was concerned. Sera could assume what she likes. Taking up his cup, he finishes his now cold coffee before leaving the table to fetch another.

The air in the room was heavy with tension as the silence between each party stretches on uncomfortably. Taking another bite of puff pastry Sera considers how to alleviate the situation. Deciding a distraction is probably warranted she asks, “Can we go shopping today? I need to get presents for Christmas.”

“As do I.” Aziraphale agrees. “We have our doctor’s appointment this afternoon. Would you like to accompany us?”

Sera brightens, “I would love to.” Her joyous smile is not in the least bit dissuaded as her brother growls his disapproval, walking from the kitchen.

1:00 PM  
Divinity Obstetrics and Gynecology.

They waited in their usual spot, with one additional seat added. Sera fidgets restlessly, looking over a magazine. Leaning in Crowley whispers harshly in his angel’s ear, not caring who heard. “You sure you want Sera in there?”

He places his hand on his husband’s giving him a reassuring pat. “I don’t mind. As long as there are none of those horrid exams.” ‘She would be bored to pieces if we left her behind. And getting a little harmless revenge never hurt anyone.’

Crowley lets his head list back against the wall. Glaring his displeasure at the Seraph reading The Twenty One Best Lip Balms to Drive Your Man Mad. ‘Wonder which one Aziraphale would prefer?’ He snatches the publication from his sister’s hands, “Listen when we go in don’t say anything. If you have questions, ask me when we are alone. Understand?”

“Yes.” She says reaching for the magazine. Only for it to be pulled out of reach.

“I am ssseriousss Ssssera.” he hisses, holding the ridiculous publication aloft. “As far as these humans know, we are just a normal married couple.”

“I understand,” she says, holding her hand out expectantly.

Crowley lowers the desired object appearing to hand it over. Before suddenly flinging it across the waiting room. Stopping with a thud as it slides under a table, with a statuary of an abstract mother and baby.

The door opens as Sera is about to protest. “Mr Crowley.” Comes the familiar husky voice. “You’ll be picking that up then?” Nurse Agnes commands, hand on a cocked hip. Stern eyes unyielding as they glare her displeasure upon the husband and father to be.

Snarling he did as ordered, solely to refrain from being kicked out of their appointment. Slinking over to the table, he discreetly miracles the magazine into his hand. He places it next to the flowers he decidedly noted as being hideous.

Aziraphale bit back a laugh as he stood, following their victorious nurse. Their routine was not interrupted any further. Sera, making a considered effort to make herself as invisible as possible. As Agnes scrutinizes her as one would do an unexpected interloper.

The door opens, and Dr Frances enters surprised by the tall woman sitting sheepishly with her patients. “Mr and Mrs Crowley. I see you brought someone with you. Is this your Dula?” She offers Sera her hand in greeting.

‘Tag along.’ “No. My sister.” Crowley informs, curtly.

Amused by the father’s visible agitation, she smiles at the young woman. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss…”

Sera does not respond, looking to Crowley as if to ask what to do. Orange eyes fearful. Certain, that if she spoke to the human, she would surely give them away as her brother suggested.

‘Oh, for Satan’s sake.’ Schooling his face away from astonished infuriation he answers “She’s a mute. Name’s Sera,” as if he had a thousand times before. The glare he receives tells him though his sister would not jeopardize them, she was not pleased.

“Sera.” Dr Frances greets the sibling. “Let’s get to it.” She says, turning to wash her hands.

The appointment goes as expected. Everything confirmed to be progressing accordingly. Again the ultrasound machine is brought forward. The highlight of the appointment for Dr Frances being the father’s reaction to each new set of images. She quickly applies the gel to the mother’s stomach. The mute sister-in-law looking on in wonderment.

She works at getting the best images she could when something catches her eye. “Hold on,” she says mostly to herself. Squinting at the monitor, she makes a quick adjustment with the probe. Her face uncharacteristically composed. There was a long pause before she clears her throat. “Mr and Mrs Crowley it might be best if your sister steps out for a moment.” She says, clicking the machine.

Sera glances between them for guidance. Aziraphale gave her a polite nod, so she did as asked. Slipping from the room, she exits without so much as a sound. Uncertain of what to do once outside she stands against the adjacent wall, hoping everything was alright.

Seeing both parent’s worry, Frances gets directly to the point, “I am sorry, but I believe your baby has what is called Polymelia. It is a condition where additional limbs develop.” She points to a white blur on the screen, “Here just on your baby’s scapula are two protrusions which should not be there.” Half expecting them both to fall into hysterics or at the least show some signs of worry, she was baffled by the loving glance they exchange.

‘Wings’ It was finally confirmed. Aziraphale’s heart both soars and plummets to Earth in a dizzying dance. ‘They have physical wings. We will have to hide them. Our precious darling, you will be so beautiful.’ An image of a sleeping babe in his arms shown brightly in his mind’s eye. Delicate little wings tucked in as they dreamed. His finger tracing over a pristine primary. Every fibre of his corporation’s heart ached for such things to be a reality.

Crowley studies the image intently. Where the human saw a defect, he could make out the humerus, radius and ulna already formed. They were folded in close to their little body. He couldn’t tell if there were in fact feathers already, but he suspects those would probably develop after birth. He returns the nervous smile his beautiful angel regarded him with. ‘I know dove. We’ll figure it out. I wonder if we will have to teach them how to fly?’

Sensing that her patients were resolved not to comment she continues, “I will speak with some of my colleagues. We will want to put together a multidisciplinary team to properly diagnose this. We will need to form a plan to treat your child upon birth. Typically this would include orthopaedic surgery to remove the limbs. It isn’t without risks, but it might be in your baby’s best interest.”

“That will not be necessary, doctor,” Aziraphale says politely. ‘Perish the thought. No human is going to be cutting on our baby.’

“Can we get a picture of that as well?” Crowley asks as if he didn’t hear the human’s recommendation. If she had bothered to ask how he felt about their child’s Poly-whatever-she-said, he would have to admit to a certain degree of the sin of pride.

Dumbfounded by their apparent acceptance of the malady she clarifies, “Mr and Mrs Crowley this could seriously impact your child’s health. It may make natural childbirth unsafe as well.”

Patiently laying still, though he wanted nothing more than to end the procedure and leave, he knew Crowley truly wanted his keepsakes. Aziraphale smiles at their doctor, “While I appreciate your concern, and the severity of the matter, I think it is best if we continue with our original plan.”

She couldn’t force her patients to see reason, nor force a potentially life-threatening procedure upon their child without their consent. She nods her understanding and decides to gather information on what caused the deformity instead. “Have you been exposed to Rubella Mrs Crowley?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Aziraphale answers primly. ‘Surely I have in 6,000 years. But it wouldn't affect this corporation.’

The next possibility was delicate, to say the least. The pair looked nothing alike though that didn’t necessarily exclude the likelihood. “Pardon me for asking. Is there a history of inbreeding in either of your families?”

Aziraphale gives the human a scolding glower. “No, doctor.” ‘Inbreeding? Really?’

Dr Frances turns her attention to the father, “Mr Crowley, are there any other abnormalities in your family?” She had noticed the unique colour of his sister’s eyes. Perhaps their family had other anomalous mutations.

‘Oh, sure. Ability to turn into a snake. My brother is the Lord of All Evil. Our mother is the omnipresent will of all that exists.’ “None” he answers flatly.

“Have you been exposed to any chemicals or dangerous substances Mrs Crowley?” Their doctor asks at a loss.

“Surely not, no.” Aziraphale answers. ‘I hope this doesn’t become an issue. Crowley so looks forward to our appointments. I would hate to have to end them because they grow suspicious.’

Dr Frances takes a still of the image for the father. Then shifts the image to 3D. She works in silence, getting a good look at the appendages. When finally she is confident there are no other abnormalities to be visibly seen, she turns off the machine and cleans the mother’s belly. “I would like to do some additional tests if that is alright.”

Aziraphale smooths down his dress, sitting up with his husband’s assistance. “By all means, doctor,” he consents knowing there would be nothing to find.

“Agnes will be in shortly.” Dr Frances informs. She doesn’t wait for a response as both parents look particularly guarded. She washes up and makes several notes in their chart before excusing herself.

Agnes does return, making quick work of drawing several vials of blood. Notably not commenting on their news. When she is done, she brings them their next appointment card and a series of images. The father eagerly taking them and shuffling through with a smile. “Well, we will see you in two weeks. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas.” Aziraphale smiles, pulling on his cream coat.

When they exit the exam room, a very nervous Sera hurries over to them. “Is everything alright?” she asks, completely forgetting the pretence she was supposed to be maintaining.

Dr Frances peers around the corner with a questioning look hearing the young woman speak. Aziraphale laughs nervously “Almighty be praised. A miracle. They say babies are blessings after all.”

“Uh, huh,” Agnes says in disbelief behind them.

Crowley takes his sister by the arm and guides them all for the exit. Annoyance fueling each long stride. Once they are out in the chilly London air, he turns “Seriously?”

“What? I forgot.” She barks back at Crowley. Pulling free from his firm grip, she demands, “What happened?”

Crowley selects a picture and thrusts it into Sera’s hand. “They have wings.”

“Almighty.” She whispers, studying the image. “Brother, they are so cute.” Beaming brightly down at her new family member. Orange eyes shoot up to Crowley full of gratitude.

He takes the photo back, tucking it with the others into his great pocket. 'Yeah, you're welcome, tag along.'

“They are.” Aziraphale agrees warmly. “Shall we be off? I still need to find something appropriate for Ysabel and Anathema.”

Crowley adjusts the seat to allow his sister in the back before assisting his angel. “Where am I taking you?”

“Not too far.” Aziraphale answers before pulling the door closed.

They end up in a little vintage shop in Soho, not far from a once-beloved bookshop. Sera is busy searching through the racks, plucking up colourful items from the ’70s. Crowley is standing next to his angel, who is perusing some antique china. Counting the minutes until they are home. ‘I am sure Anathema doesn’t want used crockery.’

“Dearest?” Aziraphale asks, turning to his husband.

“Yeah?” he asks flicking the tag of an outrageously overpriced, cheap knockoff, of a Regency-era vase.

Aziraphale wraps his arms around his husband’s waist. Their little one pressed between them. Staring up at shielding sunglasses, he steadies himself for what he was certain would be an argument. “I am going to ask a favour of you. Which, I am sure you will refuse. But I need you to understand it can't be helped.”

“What is it, Aziraphale?” He groans, feeling his angel’s adorably undeniable brand of manipulation setting in.

“I need you to...That is...I need you to not...accompany us for a time.” He says, hands nervously fiddling with his husband’s shirt in lew of his own. ‘Please don’t be too upset. You are so dutiful in your care for us you have left me no chance at all to procure your gift.’

“No.” He nearly shouts. Memories of that day not long ago enough fill his mind. ‘How can you ask me this? You know how dangerous it is. Now, who is being the reckless one?’

Aziraphale holds his hands up to his husband’s lips, “Shhh. There is no need to cause a scene." The few patrons who meander through the shop, all casting inquisitive looks in their direction. Sera among them.

Crowley sneers at their audience, ‘Mind your own bloody business.’ “It is not safe. What is Hell shows up? What if Gabriel has someone waiting for you to be alone?” ‘I can’t protect you if I am not there. Please don’t send me away. I have you protect you.’

Throwing his arms around his husband’s shoulders, he leans in as best he can. “Dearest, please understand. I have...someone...I need to speak with regarding your present. It won’t take long. A couple of hours at the most.”

“Aziraphale.” He groans, pulling free from his angel’s embrace. Calming his voice to a reasonable tone. “I’m not leaving you. We’ll figure something else out. I…” ‘Two hours? I wasn’t gone thirty minutes when Gabriel nearly discorporate you. Bloody fucking Christmas is more trouble than it’s worth.’ Gently he slid his hand over his angel’s belly. His whole world was there before him. All cavalier presence fades from him. Everything bleeds into that one helpless moment outside his angel's bookshop. 'I cant. Please, Go,d watch over them. Please.' “I can’t lose you Aziraphale." he finally whispers, choking back the fear that threatens to strangle him. "You or our Alexandria. Please.” ‘I won’t survive it.’

The sight of his husband so vulnerable before him nearly made him relent. He understood that feeling of helpless fear. And he hated seeing his wonderful kind husband consumed by it. “Dearest. Look at me.”

Crowley did as bid, though he was thankful for his public use of sunglasses. “Aziraphale I...I won’t look. I’ll hang out near the front of wherever you need to go. I just can’t let anything happen to you.” 'I have to protect you.'

Sera made her way over, seeing that there was something clearly wrong between the pair. “Aziraphale is everything alright?” She asks of her fellow angel, though kept her eyes on her brother. He being the one who looks suddenly fragile.

“We are alright Sera. I asked your brother to give us some time to pick up a few things. He is worried for my safety." Aziraphale informs their guest, mindful of his husband's growing anxieties.

"Brother, I will keep your family safe." Sera supplies hoping to put her brother's mind at ease.

"Against all the legions of Hell?" he barks furiously. 'Why can neither of you see how dangerous this is?'

Squaring her shoulders, she allows her inner fires to glint in her eyes to remind her brother she wasn't some frail human, "If need be."

"You are ridiculous," he says dramatically waving Sera's posturing off. 'One Seraph. No matter how powerful you are, you'll be overrun.' releasing his angel, he begins to pace. Each heavy boot step clunking against the wood floors. 'I could agree and follow them. Keep out of sight.'

Growing impatient with her brother's silence, Sera speaks for forcefully, “Crowley we can’t get your present with you hovering.”

“Then don’t get me n'ything.” He says striding up to glare into Orange eyes. Sera didn't shy away. "I don't give a damn about Christmas or bloody gifts. The only thing that matterssss to me in all exisssstenccce isss right there." he hisses menacingly pointing at his angel. 'I'll see this whole world burn and me along with it before I let something harm them.'

Aziraphale steps between them, cupping his husband to look down on him. “My love, please. We will be alright." he attempts to sooth Crowley. Delicate fingers combing through firey waves. "We have nothing to fear from Heaven. And we haven’t heard a peep from Hell.”

“Yet." he says, emphasising the T. "And that is what bloody well worries me. Beelzebub was s'ppose to let me know when we are safe."

“I know, my love. But with Sera here I should be perfectly safe.” he tries again to reassure. Every eye in the little shop was now unabashedly watching them. Taking Crowley's hand, he pulls his husband toward the exit. Sera close on their heels.

Outside he holds up his hand to halt Sera, before dragging Crowley to the Bentley, needing a moment alone to speak with his husband. As they reach the antique, he feels strong hands grasp the lapels of his coat and gently force him against the car.

Their mouth meet in a frenzied kiss. Both cradling each other's face as they breathe one another's scent. Fear, anxiety, and frustration fueling Crowley's desperate hold on his angel. He doesn't care what anyone thinks as he lets his essence slip, brushing against his angel's, causing Aziraphale to unconsciously moan, for all to hear. He draws back, seeing his angel's eye dark with desire. "Dove, please," he begs, caressing supple flushed cheek.

Resting his hands against his husband's firm chest, he struggles to free his mind from the haze of desire. "I-I u-understand your con-concerns." he struggles to get out coherently. "But You know as well as I...there aren't many in Hell that would openly pick a fight with a Seraph. And I am an Archangel now. I am even more capable of fending for myself if need be."

"Aziraphale." he pleads again. Already knowing his angel's mind has already been made.

"My love, it is only for a short while. And...this is important to me. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't." brushing a stray curl behind his husband's ear, he continues. "You do so much for me. I...I just want to...to...give you something to show you how much it all means to me. Please let me do this for you. We will call you if anything seems amiss."

Hauntingly beautiful blue eyes undo him. Sighing in defeat, he holds his family close. Nose buried in starlight ringlets. 'You had better fucking come back to me.' "I love you, dove."

"I know dearest. I love you too." 'Please don't look so sad. This isn't goodbye.'

Stepping back, he straightens with a sharp sniff. Tucking his emotions away to regain his devil may care facade. Looking over at his sister, he calls out, "Sera if anything should happen…"

Having averted her eyes from the romantic display, she turns back abruptly upon hearing her name. "Crowley your family is my family. I will protect them with my life." Sera vows with all sincerity.

'It will be alright. Everything will be fine. We can get through this Christmas shite, and everything will be as it was. Please watch over them.' “Aziraphale, two hours. We meet here.” He says, pointing at the group between them.

“Of course, my love. Thank you.” Taking his husband’s hand, lacing their fingers together, he seals his agreement with a kiss.

Crowley watches them depart. His heart heavy with worry, though the casual onlooker would assume otherwise. Saddling into his faithful car, he turns her on. ‘Two hours. Might as well make the most of it.’ “C’mon old girl. We’ve got work to do.”

It turned out Aziraphale did not need the full two hours to acquire said gift which caused such a fuss. As they made their way back to the meeting point, his purchase securely under his arm, Sera stops at several shops, including a taxidermist, for an odd selection of presents. He had considered interjecting a bit of advice on proper gifting practices. But as she explained her reasoning behind one particular item, he figures it is the thought that truly matters. Though if his husband desired to display the item, he would encourage him to do so, in the privacy of his study.

As their rendezvous destination came into view, Sera abruptly stops once again. An exceptionally fetching dress in a window display catching her eye. Being in the middle of a lengthy lecture on the works of Georgette Heyer, Aziraphale had walked several paces before realising he was without his shopping companion.

“Sera, dear girl...” he says looking at the flashy sequin dress that had the Seraph so enraptured. He checks his pocket watch which stays concealed in coat pocket these days. “We have forty minutes. Why don’t you try it on?” It was a bit garish by his standards, but he imagines the much younger appearing Seraph would look lovely in it. Aziraphale opens the door for Sera offering a little bow, “After you.” Sera hurries in, her multitude of bags bumping into a woman as she enters the opposite door.

“Steady on. Mind your parcels young…” Scolds a dainty woman, pausing as she recognises the other party. “Oh! Aziraphale, good afternoon love.” Tracy beams up at the angel heavy with child, “Who is your friend?”

“Good afternoon Tracy.” Her gruff husband stumbles up behind her, “Mr Shadwell.” he greets his former human operative.

“Aye. Mrs Crowley,” he says, scrutinizing the ginger to the right.

Placing a gentle hand on the upper back of his ‘sister in law?’ “Allow me to introduce you both to Sera. Crowley’s sister. Sera this is Mr and Mrs Shadwell.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Sera. Isn’t it Mr S? And Tracy is fine, dear.” the former Madam informs patting the top of Sera’s hand. “Are you coming for Christmas as well?” She asks with wide-eyed enthusiasm.

“I am,” Sera answers holding up her copious bags. “We are Christmas shopping."

"Isn't that nice. We were just about to pop in here as well. See if we can’t find something a bit more...presentable for my husband to wear.” She says eyeing the man’s dishevelled attire.

Aziraphale was about to assure the kindly woman there are no dress requirements for the occasion. When it occurs to him, it might be a bit of artful subterfuge on Tracy’s part to get the Witchfinder into something less unkempt and smelling of stale cigarettes, beer, and mildew.

They enter the shop together. Shadwell taking up position in the designated chair for husbands to guard their lady fair’s purse. Madam Tracy appointing herself in charge of assisting her new acquaintance with selecting a small mountain of fashionable clothing, including the dress from the window. Sera is assigned to a fitting room and encouraged by Aziraphale to hurry, as time was rapidly dwindling down.

Sera emerges in the glittering number. A simple sheath silhouette with thin straps holding it on Sera’s lithe frame. Nearly flat chested there was no danger of her bosom peeking from the plugin neckline. Yet the already scant length of the garment and Sera’s impossibly long legs made it appear as though little was left to the imagination. Causing her to pull at the hem, trying to encourage the dress with no success to cover more of her corporations.

Mrs Shadwell turns Sera from the three-way mirror back for the dressing rooms. "It's a lovely dress, dear. If not a bit tawdry." She says, thrusting a deep pine green velvet dress into younger woman’s hands. "Here, try this on. I suspect it might be more to your liking."

Nervously checking his watch, Aziraphale doesn't wish to be rude, but he did make a promise to his husband which he definitely meant to keep. And while the woman, who had once accommodated his possession, only intended to be helpful. They needed to get a wiggle on, and soon. Distracted by his thoughts, he didn't notice the woman approaching.

"Aziraphale I think this would look ravishing on you," Tracy says, holding up a figure-hugging red dress.

Without so much as a second thought, Azitaphale dismisses the notion, "No, I don't think so. Red really isn't my colour."

Tracy tsks, rolling her eyes in disagreement, "Come now. Red is everyone's colour. Just try it on, love."

Aziraphale gives her an annoyed look. When she doesn't budge, he takes the dress and heads to an available fitting room to humour the woman.

He quickly undresses. Turning to admire the roundness of his belly in the full-length mirror. Slipping the stretchy dress over his head, he is surprised how comfortable the sultry garment is. It clung to every curve of his voluptuous form. Stopping at mid-calf. The sleeves ended at the forearm, though one shoulder was left exposed by the asymmetric gathered neckline. It wasn't too revealing. Only Aziraphale had never worn anything that defined his plump bottom as much as this did.

Timidly he exits the dressing room. Hands nervously smoothing over his sides. Blue eyes filled with worry that he looks ridiculous or too soft for such things.

The former Madam appraisal her friend. "Look at you. I do believe I was right."

Pouting, and refusing to meet the three sets of eyes staring, he draws his hands over his thighs. "It's too tight." He says sheepishly.

"Nonsense." Tracy scolds, turning Aziraphale toward the mirror. "You have a wonderful figure. Might as well show it off."

"I just…" he whines fingers plucking at the sides. 'I look like a whale.'

"I am sure you will surprise your husband in something like that." Tracy deftly offers the incentive. By the raise of Aziraphale's brow, it is clear he takes the bait.

"Surprise?" He asks, looking at himself with newfound interest. 'Would Crowley like this?' He turns to glance at the back, "I suppose it isn't horrible." 'Perhaps? Perhaps this might be intriguing.'

Sera flits past him with a mirthful grin. "I think you look nice Aziraphale."

He looks to them all in the mirror. Even cantankerous Shadwell regarded him with some measure of interest. Which he wasn't sure if he should be flattered or repulsed. 'You all have no reason to lie to me. It's not as if Crowley hasn't seen me in far less. And he likes red.' "Alright." He says, standing a bit taller. 'Little novelty couldn't hurt.' "I will take it."

Aziraphale returns to undress with newfound confidence. Thinking of his husband's hand grasping his backside. So overcome with desire, he vigorously claims him in whatever manner he sees fit. The thought makes him wish his husband was there now.

There comes a loud voice from the shop's entrance. “Aziraphale!”

Scrambling out of the dress, he knows he only has moments before his surprise is ruined.

"Aziraphale!" Came again. Aziraphale could hear the desperation in his husband's voice.

"Mr Crowley, Aziraphale is in the lady's dressing room." Tracy answers.

Aziraphale quickly hides the dress under his coat before the door swings open. A very distressed Crowley storming in, wrapping his arms around him. He could feel his husband's heart pounding in his corporation. "Darling. I am alright. We are alright."

Crowley breathes in his angel's familiar scent. Fears calmed by the warmth rolling into his essence. “It’s been nearly three hours.”

'Surely not.' Aziraphale grabs his husband's wrist, checking the time. “My love I am dreadfully sorry. I completely lost track of time. We bumped into Tracy and Shadwell. I am truly sorry for making you worry.” he says, pressing against him.

'You're alright. You're here, and safe. Thank you. God, thank you.' "I should be bloody furious with you. I'm just glad you're safe." He whispers against his angel's ear. Arms unwilling to give an inch.

"Please forgive me, my love. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Just...call next time, yeah?" Crowley huffs a relieved laugh.

"Of course, dearest." Aziraphale agrees, stealing a quick peck. "I need to redress. I will be out in just a moment."

Crowley kisses his angel's forehead. "Take all the time you need, dove. I just…I'll be out with the humans." He turns and leaves his angel, shutting the door behind him. 'Good thing Bookgirl wasn't here.'

He takes the seat next to Shadwell. Relief and the last of the adrenaline making him collapse in a heap of sprawled limbs. 'You are going to be the death of me yet.'

"This es insufferable. Dresses and pomp tuh. There's more ta worry about than the material world woman." Shadwell grumbles to his wife whose arms are laden with clothing to be returned to their rack.

"There is Mr S." Tracy agrees almost patronizingly with her husband. "Getting to know new friends is a wonderful thing."

Folding his arms over his chest in protest he mumbles, "I'm gonna rot ere."

"Whot actually would you be doing if you weren't here?" Crowley asks antagonistically of his former employee.

Proudly Shadwell states, "Feight'n the forces of evil that plague this wourld. Vanquishing those that corrupt the innocent souls of ev'ry man, wuman, and child on God's good Earth. Send'n their wicked souls back to the fiery pits of Hell from whence they came."

Crowley shifts closer to the Sergeant, leaning intimidatingly close. Slipping his sunglasses low enough so the human could see the slits of his pupils. "You do realissse what I am don't you?" He whispers with a slight hiss.

"I…" Shadwell shifts away uncomfortably. Knowing he best not provoke this particular wicked soul.

Handing off his dress to Sera he goes to his husband. Who was whispering something into the Witchfinder's ear. Causing the man to look fearfully out of sorts. "Is everything alright dearest?"

Crowley pulls his family into his lap with a wolfish smile, "Just talking about the corruption of innocent souls. Eh, Shadwell?" The human makes no comment.

Sera purchases the green dress Tracy recommended. And secretly the red as Aziraphale had requested. Crowley refuses to allow them to put their purchases in the boot. Forcing his sister to be walled in the rear of the Bentley by the collection of bags.

On the drive back to their cottage the couple agree to ask Ysabel for dinner. Mostly to fill her in on the discovery of their baby's wings. Crowley the spearhead of the discussion remembering their doctor's warning of possible difficulties of childbirth. Aziraphale mainly wishing to suss out the lingering sadness that seems to haunt to poor woman.

Crowley helps bring in the bags. Though whatever was in the boot went untouched. He hurries over to extend their bordering on demanding invitation to supper. To which Ysabel finally agrees. The promise of her choice of any of their rare vintages sweetening pot.

Aziraphale and Crowley prepare supper while Sera and Ysabel chatter on about witchcraft and life in the upper sphere. As the braised venison, parsnips and red cabbage near completion Aziraphale pours both their midwife and Sera a glass of 1919 Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Romanee Conti Grand Cru. The latter of the two taking her glass timidly.

"It might take some getting use to." He warns his husband's sister. 

"What does it taste like?" She asks eyeing the ruby liquid.

"Fruity, smooth, a hint spice, excellent tannins. It is a very choice pinot noir." He informs wishing he could share a glass as well. 

Sera takes a sip. Eyes lighting up as the velvety liquid warms her palate. "It's interesting."

"Finish that glass and then tell me how interesting it is." Crowley smiles, figuring his sister to be a lightweight.

Sera takes a bolder sip, tasting for all the flavors Aziraphale mentioned. "You drink this regularly?" She questions.

"Yep. Until our little bundle of joy nearly turned Aziraphale inside out for the first time." He recalls their vineyard grape adventure. 'Wonder if we could manage a small vineyard here? Plenty of space.'

"You two have excellent taste in wine." Ysabel adds taking her own enthusiastic sip. 

"Centuries of drinking your way through history will do that for you." Crowley says brining over their plates. Sera's sans meat.

"You mentioned you have an important update about your child?" Ysabel inquires taking an elegant bite of her meal.

Aziraphale relates the news. To which Ysabel didn't seem the least bit concerned. She reassures the pair that they needn't be either. Siting the mother's angelic nature, God's blessing, and the capabilities of the female human body to perform incredible feats during childbirth. 

Sera, already at the bottom of her glass, and slightly tipsy asks about the incredible feats. Which she instantly regrets upon having her question answered. "Why would humans want to reproduce?"

Deciding that the birds and the bees talk was not his responsibility avoids explaining the very powerful incentive the act of reproduction could be. He pours his sister another glass of wine hoping to distract her. 

Ysabel helpfully answers, holding out her glass for a refill, "The pain is momentary. Children are a wonderful thing, Sera. Bringing new life into this world, holding them in your arms, watching them grow and thrive. There is nothing else quite like it."

"You enjoy being a mother?" Sera asks before taking a gulp of her wine.

"I do. Mi Amor was such a sweet child. Bright, loving. My only regret is I missed so much of her life." Ysabel admits keeping pace with Sera's drinking.

Aziraphale saw the sorrow settle on elegant features. It was his turn to ask, "What do you mean miss?"

Ysabel swirls the wine in her glass, absently, "My daughter went off to college at age fourteen. She has a doctorate, you know." Pausing, she empties her glass. "It was important Mi Amor was prepared for her destiny. It left little time for her to enjoy being a child, I am afraid."

‘Fourteen? That is so young. You poor dear.’ "She is a lovely young woman Ysabel. You should be very proud."

"I am. Mi Amor had always made me proud," she says as Sera helpfully refills her glass. "I only wish we had more time. She is a woman now. With her own life. And I feel as though I hardly know her." Frowning, she hold the rim against her full bottom lip. "I pushed her so hard to prepair her for her destiny. I never spared a thought for what came after." She drinks.

"Well, it was Armaggedon," Crowley says with a shrug. ‘Not like there was much hope when faced with those odds.’

Glancing up with a weak smile, "Don't make my mistakes. Cherish them while you can. Let them be a child. They will have plenty of time for the rest."

"Thanks, in part to your daughter." Aziraphale reminds, that had Ysabel not done as she did thing would have probably turned out quite different.

"Yes." She agrees, before emptying her glass once more.

Aziraphale had come up empty for the two witches during their shopping fiasco. Now he knew precisely what to give the two women. He would enlist his husband’s aid as soon as they were alone. As he had yet to properly learn to navigate the internet.

Sera takes the bottle and empties it into her glass. "B-brother? Am...am I suppose to feel like th-this?" She asks slurring, swaying ever so subtly in her seat.

‘Your first time, I’d be worried if you didn’t.’ "It is kinda the point of alcohol Sera." He says, throwing an arm around his angel.

"I like wine." she smiles at her glass.

"We've enjoyed it immensely haven’t we darling?"

Crowley kisses his agreement. Earning him a beautiful blushing smile.

"Why do you do that?" Sera drunkenly inquires as she pours another glass. Missing the mark the first try, but manages to fill it precariously near the brim on the second. Her brother confused as to where she acquired the already open bottle that hadn’t been there moments before. Pouring Ysabel another glass more successfully than her own.

"Do whot?" Crowley wonders at her meaning.

"With your mouths,” Sera says, tapping her finger to puckered lips. “You do it aaaaall the time. I’ve n-never seen an-angels doit bafore. Isita human thing?" Sera slurs before adding to her intoxicification.

Crowley shrugs, "It feels nice." ‘The Hell am I supposed to say?”

"It’s a way to show someone you love them," Aziraphale adds for clarification.

"Oh.” She accepts, staring at her wine with one orange eye. “Nice how?"

"Eh...you know…” Crowley squeaks trying to come up with an eloquent explanation. “It...Help us out here, dove,” he says, turning to his angel.

‘I get to explain intimacy to your sister? This is not part of any marital vows.’ “Well…” he begins, organizing his thoughts. “You see, it depends on the intention. One could greet with a kiss. There are kisses between a parent and child. There are kisses between lovers. It varies differently.”

“Oh…” She nods though she doesn’t understand. “You two are...l-l-lovers. What dus tha one f-feel like?” Sera stares at them intently. Eyes squinted to focus her vision.

Aziraphale smiles warmly at his husband. Thinking back on the night when they shared their first kiss. ‘Like coming home every time. A beautiful reminder that this is all very real.’ “For me. I feel...whole. Warm and often exhilarating. Sometimes it’s so wonderful I feel as though I might cry.” Uttering the words aloud does make the prickle of tear sting his eyes. ‘I am so lucky to have you in my life.’ Golden eyes smile back at him in profound affection.

“And crying es...gud?” She asks mouth agape.

Aziraphale caresses his husband’s cheek, “In this instance, yes.”

She perks up with what she thinks is a rather clever idea. “Cud you kiss me?”

“No!” Crowley barks at his drunk sister’s ludicrous request, refusing for both of them. The little angry pout Sera offers as she slumps in her chair had no effect on him in the least.

“Just wanted to know what it felt like. Don’t have to bite my head off,” she grumbles, folding her arms over her chest.

“I will kiss you.” Ysabel offers, setting her glass down. The elegant lady was intoxicated as well but hid the signs better than the angelic first-timer.

“No, no, no, no. That is nota good idea.” Crowley insists. ‘That’s all we need is for a Seraph to have a tryst with a human witch.’

Ysabel cocks a brow at the demon in disapproval, “Your sister is curious, and I am willing. She is no child. I hardly think you have any right to say what she does with her body.”

“Bloody ridiculous.” Crowley groans. ‘I hate Christmas.’

Ysabel stands and moves closer to Sera. Sitting at the edge of the chair next to the surprised angel. “Would you like for me to kiss you?” Her Spanish accent making the question all the more alluring. Sera nods helplessly transfixed on Ysabel’s full soft lips. “Just relax and close your eyes.” She instructs, waiting patiently as the younger appearing woman complies. Ysabel cuts Sera’s pale cheek, presses her lips to the Seraph’s. Hold for a long moment before gently pulling away.

Sera isn’t sure if it was the effect of the kiss or the alcohol, but she feels as though she is floating. The loss of the connection making her sway forward. “I...that was…” she struggles to describe. Eyes still closed as she was lost in the little tingle at her mouth.

“Nice.” Crowley supplied wanting to mock his sister but figured he probably looked just as absurd when he and Aziraphale first kissed.

“I should be getting to bed,” Ysabel says, standing, taking up the bottle to carry back to the guest cottage. Her kissing pupil gazing up at her, cheeks scarlet, eyes pleading she not leave.

Aziraphale understood the longing that Sera regarded the human with. And though he knew it was for the best if Ysabel left before things could get out of hand, he wasn’t about to be a rude host. “Are you sure. We haven’t served the chocolate tart.”

Ysabel smiles down on the pale firey beauty that appeals for her to remain. “It’s for the best. See you in the morning.”

“Good night Ysabel.” Sera breathes out helplessly. Eyes watching every movement as the raven-haired witch glides from her view.

“G'night,” calls Crowley with a half-hearted wave.

Sera sat impossibly still. Eye hopefully watching for Ysabel to return. ‘Good Lord, what have we done? I hope it is just the wine.’ “Sera dear, are you alright?”

“I’m great.” she smiles tenderly to herself.


	33. Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve, lover's spat...though not really. Smut, hijinx, and just some fun.

Tuesday 24 December 2019  
4:45 am  
The Cottage

They stood together arm in arm. Crowley smiling down on his angel with infinite love and achingly beautiful happiness. Noticing, Aziraphale beams up at him. "Penny for your thoughts, my love?"

Crowley lets out a little chuckle. As he opens his mouth to speak, there was a sudden flash, blindingly bright. Aziraphale recoils away shielding his eyes.

When Aziraphale was able to regain his sight, his husband was gone. Searching the vast emptiness around him, he felt panic rising in his throat. He calls out in the darkness. Voice echoing back his desperation. 

Taking a step, he finds a puddle in his path. 'What?' Before him is a thick dark pool, coating his barefoot in a viscous liquid. A sickening metallic smell fills his nose. 'Blood.' 

He blinks, trying to dispell the image. Only to find a graver horror when he opens his eyes. His human friends lay lifeless before him. Anathema and Newton holding each other. Eyes staring into the distance unseeing. Adam, his companions, Madam Tracy, and Shadwell all lay pale in the blood that spills from their lifeless bodies. 

Aziraphale falls to his knees cradling Anathema's hand. 'No! No, this can't be. How did this happen?' He wanted to morn their loss, but he has to find his husband. Eyes frantically search the darkness once more, "CROWLEY!" Once again, the only answer is his own voice. 

Scrambling to his feet, he took no note of the blood that stains his hands. He took a tentative step into the darkness. Everything was eerily still. No movement or sound beyond his own anxious breathing. 'If the same fate should have taken you.' Aziraphale is swept under by the current of panic. "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CROWLEY ANSWER ME!" Aziraphale screams helplessly into the void. Throat stripped raw from the strain. His heart crushed under the weight of an all-consuming terror. 'Please be safe. Please, God, let him be safe. Don't take him from me.'

There is a sound behind him. Faint, barely heard over the pounding of blood as it surges through his corporation. Turning, he sees. Crowley stands, back facing him, arms limp at his side. Blood dripping from his fingertips. "CROWLEY!" He calls out running for him. Feet splashing through the inky fluid. 

Hands grasp him. Pulling, halting his advance. He turns to see who would dare prevent him from reaching his husband, finding only darkness. He fights, throwing every ounce of strength he had at his angelic disposal. More invisible hands claim him, pulling, nails biting into his flesh. His mind willed him to fight. His essence demanded he reach Crowley. 

Crowley turns his head, golden eyes full of love and sorrow. "I am sorry, angel." The world erupts around him. Flames lapping at his body, stars falling from the sky. Pelting the ground all around, leaving great wounds in the Earth. Crowley is swept away in a sea of demons spilling forth from a great fissure. 

Aziraphale fights, pulling against the unseen restraint. Voice failing as he wails in horror. Hand reaching desperately for his husband that is no more. "CROWLEY!"

"I am sorry, angel," echoes through the darkness. Or was it his mind? Then he is falling. Invisible hands releasing all at once. He lands on his side. Sobbing his profound grief. "Please don't leave me. We need you. I need you."

"Mummy?" comes a little voice. Aziraphale shifts, there at his side is a brilliant light, cutting through the consuming darkness like a beacon. Pale glowing hand reaching down to him. "Mummy, why are you upset?"

Aziraphale pulls their child into his arms. Cradling them, rocking to soothe his fractured essence. "Your father...he…" he whimpers, unable to utter the last aloud. 

"Daddy is safe, mummy. If you wake up, you will see." Their little one says, shining up at him.

"Wake? I am dreaming." Realisation washes over him. Fear fading into the gloom of his surroundings. "Thank you, Alexandria. Mummy loves you very much." He bows, kissing their brow. 

Alexandria giggles, "Mummy, you are silly."

"That I am. Sorry to worry you." He smiles warmly down on their radiant light. They give a final giggle as they vanish. 

He wakes with a gasp. Their room is dark, though he feels as if it is spinning, vision doubled in a nauseating haze. Next to him, their nest is once again empty. He hurriedly stumbles to his feet, making the dizzying feeling all the worse. Holding his hand out, he searches for their door. Feet unsure of each wobbling. 

Finding the doorknob, he steadies himself, legs threatening to give out. Beyond their bedroom door, he could hear muffled voices. Shakily he opens it but a crack. 

“Don’t you dare breathe a word of this to my angel.” Growls Crowley low, a distance away. There was a real threat to his tone. Aziraphale weakly eases the door open so he could peer down the hall. 

His husband stood in the corridor, in nothing more than his black briefs. Though his vision swam in the sickening fluidity, he saw Sera’s arm firmly in Crowley's grasp. The Seraph for her part didn’t appear to be in the least intimidated. Smiling with mocking humour at her sibling’s ire. 

“I won’t” she answers sweetly placing her hand on her brother’s. 

“Ssssera.” He hisses her name as a warning. Glaring the full weight of his serpent gaze down upon her. 

Sera steps in and wraps her arms around Crowley’s middle. The other releasing her arm in exasperation, groaning at the embrace. She rests her head to his chest, smiling, “It will be our little secret.” rising on her toes, she presses a kiss to his cheek.

The world retreats from him. His mind unable to make sense of the image before him. His husband nearly naked in his sister's arms. She speaking of secrets. Secrets meant to be kept from him no doubt. Pain knots in his chest. A sensation Aziraphale had never before felt in all his long year's thrumb through his essence. Part of him wanted to disappear, the other wanted to storm down their hall and demand answers. Though he is sure, the storming part would be more of a shuffle. Before he could make a decision on either golden eyes find him. Fear washing over his husband’s face. “Crowley?" Aziraphale whispers, weakly clutching the frame of the door for support. 

"Aziraphale!" he shouts, shoving his sister aside. Halting going to his angel mid-stride. ‘Shit. What did you hear?’ There was something in the way Aziraphale looked at him that gave him pause. Accusation and confusions shifting between him and Sera. 'You can't think that.' “No. Aziraphale, no. I could never...”

Aziraphale tries to will his mind to desist it's incessant spinning so he might make sense of it all. Swallowing back against the nausea. "What is going on?” He demands, closing his eyes only to find it only intensifies the sensation. His mind reels with images, each more terrible than the last. Remembering the horrors of his dream, mixing with the previously unimaginable of his husband entangled with Sera. He feels his world crumbling around him. Tears fill his eyes. When he opens them, Crowley is an ever-shifting blur. 'I am still dreaming. This is a nightmare. I am going to wake and be in Crowley's arms. Safe in our nest. This isn't happening.' He attempts to will himself awake. A soft sob escapes him when he can't.

"Nothing, dove.” He goes to his angel. Hands reaching only to come up empty as Aziraphale weakly shifts back. His angel looks so fragile clinging to their home. Eyes glistening with tears. 'Is this what you think of me?'

“How could you?" 'I trusted you. I love you. And you betray me like this? How could you do this to us?’ Aziraphale asks, somewhere between a condemnation and a plea.

“Aziraphale I could never. I have loved you and only you for 6,000 years. Nothing happened. Ask her." He begs, pointing to the Seraph trying to be as invisible as possible. "Ask Sera.”

“I heard her." His unsteady vision shifts to their guest. "Your little secret,” he says, practically spitting the bitter words out. He expected to see guilt or some emotion indicating her complicity. Surprised, he finds only confusions staring back at them. 

Part of him desperately wants to believe Crowley, but a darker part of him wants to rage against his husband. He could feel their child stirring inside his womb, and it made him all the more furious. ‘Are we not enough? How could you throw us away like this? Heartless, callus, bastard.’ 

Crowley felt his angel’s wrath boring into his essence. It was dark, and painful in a way he wasn't sure Aziraphale was capable of. He fell to his knees before his angel, eyes praying with the icy blue glare to see reason. “Aziraphale, you are my world.” He reaches again, trying for shaking hand only for it to be ripped from his grasp. “Please. I would never betray you.” 

“Crowley I love you...I-I want to believe you...” truer words were never spoken upon the Earth. His wrath ebbed. The pitiable look on his husband’s pleading face nearly quelling his fury all together. “You had better explain.” 

“I’ll tell you everything. Just please, dov...ang...Aziraphale. You have to know. After everything we have been through. I could never do anything to hurt you.” ‘For the love of God, this can’t be happening. You know me.’ 

Tears fell freely down his cheeks. Anger fading to guilt. ‘I do know.’ He couldn’t stop the sob that escapes him. ‘I always push you away.’ “Crowley.” his husband’s name is a soft whimper. 

He is on his feet in an instant. Holding his trembling angel to him. “Shhhh. I am so sorry, dove." His heart aching at the desperate hold with which Aziraphale clung to him. Tears wetting his chest. 

"No. I shouldn't have...I do know...Crowley...I…" his rambling is stopped with a kiss. The tenderness only making his shame all the worse. 

Crowley pulls back, kissing his angel's forehead. Aziraphale sways, nearly slipping from his arms. "Are you alright?" He asks studying unfocused eyes. 

"Dizzy. I almost feel drunk." He explains, resting back into his husband. "I had another awful dream. Our Alexandria woke me." 

Forgetting Sera, figuring she had no idea of what she had been accused of, he scoops his angel into his arms. "Let’s get you back to bed.” 

Though he still felt like the world was spinning Aziraphale allows his husband to carry him back into their room. The door closing behind them with a soft click. Crowley sat on the edge of their nest, resting him to his husband’s lap. "I am sorry, my love. I...I don’t know what came over me. I woke from the nightmare, and you had gone. I heard voices and...I shouldn't have assumed. I am so sorry."

"No, dove.” He purs, holding his still tearful angel close. “If I hadn't been keeping things from you, this wouldn't have happened. I just...I want to surprise you. For Christmas." 'And of course, I screw everything up.'

'I'm a horrid spouse. You are only doing as I ask and I accuse you of infidelity.' "Dearest." He buries his face in the crook of his husband's neck. "I'm sorry for being so horrid and unreasonable. Christmas was my idea. A certain amount of secrecy is to be expected."

Crowley forces his angel to look at him. He could see the guilt eating at Aziraphale. 'Was a bad look. Can't say as I would like seeing you nearly naked in someone else's arms.' Crowley levels Aziraphale a sincere look. 'I need you to understand.' "I love you, Aziraphale. I would never jeopardise this for anything." 'Any of it.'

"I do know." He says, leaning in affirming his love with a kiss; ignoring the reeling chaos in his head. Crowley's warm, soft lips anchoring him to a fixed point. Fingers tangle in his hair, locking him in place. By now their unions were comforting and familiar. Yearning for such a connection Aziraphale unsteadily rises to his feet, awkwardly straddling his husband's lap. "I do believe I have always known, my love." He descends on Crowley in feverish passion. At first, he fears his husband may not reciprocate his need. But as always Crowley is there, hands worshipfully caressing his corporation. "Crowley take me, please. I need you." He whispers between a kiss.

Crowley is drowned by his angel's desire. Waves crashing into him like a sea churned in a hurricane. Gently he shifts them, supporting Aziraphale as he lays his angel down. Straightening he is about to relieve his angel of nightgown and undergarments when he abruptly finds them both unclothed, no barriers. Just each other. 

Aziraphale holds out his arms for his husband. Thighs spread beckoning Crowley come to him. "I need you." He pleads. Feeling his effort ache with anticipation. 

Staring down on his angel, he was helplessly lost. Pale soft perfection spread before him. Features flushed prettily, sapphire eyes dark with longing. "My angel, " he whispers gliding into their nest. "My all," is purred as a hand glides up plump thigh. "My own self." Crowley hovers over Aziraphale, conscious to not rest his weight on their little one. Tenderly he brushes his thumb over soft cheek, clearing away the remnants of tears. His angel's hand pressing his own in place. Bowing, he seals their lips. His essence bathed in warm, loving pulses and desire in equal measure. Delicate hands trail up his sides, causing him to shudder. He shifts to his angel's ear, "I must live for you and for me." Trailing his hand down, he finds his angel's ample breast. "Even in bed my ideas yearn towards you, " he breathes against his angel's neck before kissing his way back to rosy lips, thumb swiping over Aziraphale's perk nipple. Earning him a delicious moan. Crowley pulls back, only enough so he might look into azure pools. "My immortal beloved."

"Beethoven?" Aziraphale asks remembering the discovered letters from the composer. When he first read them, he thought on his friend. Imagining Crowley speaking such honeyed words to him. 

Crowley smirks, 'by way of demonic inspiration. At least the better parts.' He continues, hoping his angel might decern the truth from the plagiarized words. "I can only live altogether with you or not at all." His hand glides between them finding the already slick pearl. Watching beautiful features tense as he circles the little bundle. "That I may fly into your arms and call myself quite at home with you, " 

"Yes." Aziraphale sighs. A more eloquent response stolen by the pleasure his husband skillfully stokes with each press of dexterous fingers. "Oh Lord in Heaven, yes, my love."

"Send my soul, enveloped by yours, into the realm of spirits." He allows his essence to slip, brushing against his angel's. Aziraphale's whimpering keen at the flood of worldly and spiritual ecstasy spurs him on. Each barb of pleasure dragging him spiralling towards their shared peaks. 

Aziraphale feels his husband's tongue descend to his breast. Teeth grazing his sensitive nipple. Dark tendrils dancing against his own light. "Dearest, I…" needs was left unsaid as long elegant fingers slip inside his entrance. 

His own arousal left wanting, he watches with devoted fascination as his angel soars to the impossible heights. Chest heaving in unison with each pulse and barb that steels through Crowley. "Never another could own my heart." Rising back up, he stares into dark seas of euphoria. "Ever thine, " he purrs low, sensing his angel is close. Mouths meeting once more he drinks each stuttering moan. "Ever mine," his pace quickens, dragging intently against the bundle of nerves. "Ever ours." 

Aziraphale whimpers beneath him. One hand gripping his shoulder, the other grasping the forearm that works his effort. He needed Crowley. All of him. Moving inside of him in divine unity. He clung to the peak, refusing to topple over. 

Crowley senses his angel denying release. The climb willed into submission. "Let go dove. I have you."

"No." He keens, feeling his husband's thumb begin to caress bud of nerves between his folds. "I w-want you…" he pants trying to remain in control.

Crowley wonders just how long he might keep his angel on that razor's edge, before deciding now was not the time for such games. Removing his fingers, he takes his member in hand. Pressing in, sheathing himself completely. Aziraphale let out a throaty moan. Head resting back into their nest. 

By the way, his angel's brow furrows and bites down on bottom lip, he might mistake it for a look of pain. But, if the piercing barbs of pleasure are to be believed his angel still clung to the edge of climax. "Are you alright?" He purrs low in Aziraphale's ear. 

"Please…" his request is silenced as his husband thrusts once more. 

Aziraphale cleaves to him. Whimpering moans with each thrust. Nails biting into his shoulders. "Is..is it..too much?"

"M...m...God...please more," he pleads, fighting every urge to succumb. 

Crowley obliges. Slipping free, pulling his angel to the end of their nest. Feet planted firmly on the floor. Hands gripping supple hips for better leverage. Thrusting in, he sets a bruising pace. Aziraphale clutches his wrists, moaning his name in the most intoxicating sounds he had ever heard. 

He feels it, his angel's resolve crumbling away. Plush body tensing, effort clenching around him. "Come for me, dove." He growls low, thumb taking up stroking the flushed pearl once more.

Aziraphale cries out, grip harsh on his husband's wrists. Stars dancing behind closed lids. His release sings out from his essence dragging his husband down with him. Crowley spilling within him as he buries himself, chest heaving, muscles contracting with each pulse of climax. 

Their bedroom door flies open, ricocheting off of the wall in a resounding crash. "Crowley! What are you doing! Get off Aziraphale!" Sera shrieks pulling Crowley by the arms.

Hastily Crowley throws their tartan blanket over Aziraphale's nudity. Snatching a pillow for his own modesty as he whirls on his intrusive sister. "Sera what the fuck are you doing?"

Hysterical Sera yells at her brother, pointing at his startled spouse, "You are hurting them."

Realising what precisely the Seraph heard Aziraphale schools his voice to calm levelled tone, "Sera it is alright."

"No!" She cries, "I heard you. You can't let him do this to you!" Placing herself between the pair.

Crowley growls his annoyance. 'This is because I am a bloody demon. ' "We were having sex, Sera!" He shouts to break through her frenzied panic. 

"Making Love." Aziraphale corrects smoothing down their cover.

Looking over to his angel, he corrects himself, "Making Love." 

"What?" Sera blinks, glancing from one to the other in confusion. Sex was a concept she had heard of but didn't understand the mechanics. It was for humans, not angels. She wasn't even sure her kind was capable of such a thing. 

"You know…" Crowley tries for an answer that wouldn't scandalize his angel and put his sister at ease. "How babies are made."

"Aziraphale is already pregnant." Sera shrieks again pointing to the bump hidden under tartan. Then a thought strikes her dumbfounded. "Can...can you get more pregnant?"

"No! Out!" He yells, taking his sister by the arm and escorting her to the door. 

"But…" she tries to fight against the forceful expulsion.

"OUT, Sera!" He yells, pushing her from their room. Slamming the door in a final act of irritation. Walking back over to their nest, he sits, brushing stray strands of hair from his face. 'Well. That happened.'

Aziraphale sits up, resting his chin on Crowley's shoulder. "We are going to have to explain." 'The poor dear looked terrified.'

'Yeah, no, Hey Sera. Aziraphale and I purposefully gave ourselves human reproductive organs just so we could make passionate love to one another. Why you ask? Seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do at the time. When we thought we were out of time.' "Like Hell, we are," Crowley grumbles. Peering over his shoulder, he knew he would not win this disagreement. He lets out a heavy sigh of defeat. "Fine. But I want a shower first. You feeling any better?"

"Still a bit light-headed, but at least there is only one of you now." He smiles, kissing his husband's angular shoulder. 

They quickly shower and dress. It was still very early but Aziraphale figures they could get a start on preparations before their guests arrive. He had expected Sera to sequester herself in her bedroom, but she wasn't within. They find her sitting at their breakfast table, looking confused and completely out of sorts. 

Aziraphale puts the kettle on and fetches the leftover chocolate tart. Food always put him in a better mood, he figures it is worth a try. "Sera, are you alright?" He asks setting a portion in front of the bewildered Seraph. When no sight of acknowledgement came, he places his hand on hers, "Sera?"

Looking pitifully to her fellow angel, she asks, "Why do you let him hurt you?" 

'Do I sound that dreadful?' "Crowley wasn't hurting me, Sera. It feels… nice." He offers, hoping to quell her anxieties.

"Nice?" Crowley scoffs at the word. 

"Alright." He says glaring at his husband's impudence. "It is one of the most pleasurable things one can do with their corporations." 'Satisfied?' He nods to Crowley asking the unspoken question. 

"It didn't sound pleasurable." Sera asserts in disbelief.

"Well… just take my word for it." He smiles, nervously patting her hand.

Sera thinks on the information at hand. Wondering if this was perhaps how the two became immune to destruction. Then remembering her brother's words, she asks, "If that is how you became pregnant, why still do it?"

Aziraphale blushed scarlet at the forwardness of her question. "Oh, that's not how… um… I believe we conceived during our bonding. Our essences combining."

"I'm so confused." Ser groans forehead slumping to the table. 

"Crowley?" Aziraphale pleads for his husband to offer any explanation. 

"Don't look at me," Crowley says, leaning against the entryway to their kitchen. The only reasonable distance he could maintain with this awkward situation. When his angel gives him a scolding look, he huffs, folding his arms over his chest. "Look, Sera it just feels good. Alright? And we both like it. So... why not. Humans do it all the time."

"But…" she wants to ask a thousand questions. None of which she believes either is going to give a satisfactory answer to. 

"It's perfectly fine," Aziraphale explains. 'Or at least God doesn't seem to mind. 

Sera studies her friend. Aziraphale didn't appear to be in the least harmed. Compared to earlier, they seemed almost renewed. She thought on the kiss she shared with Ysabel. About the flood of sensations from the briefest moment of their lips touching. She wonders just how more pleasurable something could be. "What does… what does it feel like?" She finally asks.

"I...uh...hm." Aziraphale stumbles over his own thoughts. 'Hard to explain really.' Looking once again to his husband, he silently asks for assistance with a pout.

'Don't look at me like that.' "You're the one that wanted to explain."

"Can you show me?" Sera asks, hopefully.

"NO! Heavens no. It's um…" 'I suppose it wouldn't be wholly accurate to say it is between two people who love each other.' Hands absently wringing he thinks of an adequate explanation. "private. More private than a kiss." 

Sera taps the tip of her finger on the table in contemplation. "Do you think Ysabel would show me?"

"You are not having sex with our midwife." Crowley barks from his distant post. 'Wonder if the other angels are so dense? F'course they are.'

"Perhaps you could find someone. A partner like Crowley and I." Aziraphale supplies as he sees Sera was determined to have this question answered in its entirety. 

"Who?" She asks thinking on her limited options. Few upstairs had shown any real interest in the happenings on Earth beyond completing their jobs. So the thought of approaching them with such a request seemed at the least ludicrous. 

"That is entirely up to you," Aziraphale encourages, but not envying Sera the impossible task in front of her. 

Crowley finally closes the distance taking the chair on the opposite side of the table. "Just stay away from humans. We don't need any Nephilim running about." 'Or another flood.'

The kettle whistles it's shrill announcement of success. Aziraphale accepts the opportunity to end the conversation. Their morning falls back into place. Sera doesn't bring up the matter any further, though Aziraphale notices that she regards them with questioning glances from time to time. 

It was early afternoon when he slides the goat cheese and shallot tarts into the oven. Sera slinks over and asks to escort Aziraphale on his daily walk. At first, he refuses, but when his husband insists, offering to keep an eye on the hors d'oeuvres, he aqueous. It was a surprisingly beautiful day for this time of year. When much of England was steeped in fog and rain. Sadly, there was still no sign of snow in sight. 

They were about to begin their third tour of the main grounds. Sera obviously extending the walk by asking about various innocuous items around their property. Feigning an impressive level of ignorance even for a sheltered Seraph. The last question she profers was on the specific type of stone that was along the bank of their stream. Aziraphale politely answers that he was sorely under-informed on matters of geology. By divine providence, or at least Aziraphale felt it was, he spies a familiar blue scooter. Shadwell fearfully clinging to his wife as they pull up to the cottage.

"Good morning, love." the vivacious woman calls out as they approach. She looked remarkably like what Aziraphale imagined a one Mrs Clause might, if she were real. A red cape, with black gloves, a below the knee wool skirt and a white blouse. Shadwell was markedly more presentable than usual, though he still wore his old tattered coat. His trousers were new, and the sweater he wore under the jacket was less moth-eaten than any of his others. "Lovely home, you have." Tracy declares removing her goggles and helmet. 

"Like to ner find the bloody place." Shadwell curtly mumbles to himself.

"Good morning Tracy. Shadwell. I'm so happy you could make it," Aziraphale smiles, offering to assists with their bags. Shadwell was about to take him up on the offer when his wife firmly shoves both their trunk and an old duffle bag into the Witchfinder’s arms. 

They journey into the cottage. Crowley meets them on the stairs as Aziraphale attempts to show them to their room. Looking frazzled, barefoot and hastily dressed. “Dearest, is everything alright?”

‘No, you just nearly caught me. Sera was supposed to keep you busy until I gave the signal.’ “F’course. Just...um...let me get your bags.” He snatches the luggage from Shadwell. Gesturing with one hand, which was holding the duffle, he comes close to smacking his former human operative in the face, “Sera take Aziraphale...um...in the uh...kitchen.” 

Tracy steps up to the upper landing. Licking her thumb, she wipes at a smudge on Crowley’s cheek, “You have a bit of red.” When she sees that it is all removed, she pats the demon on his shoulder. “There, all tidy.” She gives Crowley a patronizing grin, waiting to be shown to their destination. 

Crowley looks to his angel. Seeing there is no comprehension of the woman’s statement, he turns leading her on. Eyes glancing back to make sure Aziraphale didn’t follow. He was so close he just needed to keep everything under wraps for one more day. Which, now seems like an impossible task.

After their morning, Aziraphale knew it was best if he ignores his husband’s odd behaviour and just accepts his dismissal for what it was. Crowley being a wonderful husband. The two angels descend the stairs heading for the kitchen. Aziraphale preparing the mulled wine, both the traditional and non-alcoholic varieties. Sera does her best to keep her friend company. 

As the last of the spices and fruit are added to the pots, Dick Turpin pulls to a stop on their lawn. Aziraphale asks Sera to mind the wine as he leaves to greet the young witch and Newton. The door is opened before either human could knock. "Anathema, Newton, please do come in."

"Look at you." She exclaims, looking over Aziraphale in excitement. "Your little bump isn't so little anymore." Anathema deposits the parcel she carries so she can bow and speak to his belly. "Merry Christmas little one."

"Ever-growing it seems. My doctor assures me everything is progressing well." Aziraphale beams. From behind Newton steps a raven-haired woman who gives a timid wave. 'I nearly forgot.' Offering his hand, he greets the demure lady, "You must be Charlotte Pulsifer. Welcome to our home. My name is Aziraphale. My husband Crowley is somewhere. It is a great pleasure to meet you." 

"And you as well. Thank you for inviting me." Charlotte is surprised just how ordinary the one her son said was an angel appears. She was pretty but not the way art and religious iconography would have one believe. 

They are shown to the lounge so they may place their gifts under the tree. Mr and Mrs Shadwell already sitting by the fireplace. Anathema excitedly discusses the photo Crowley sent of Alexandria's wings. Aziraphale attesting they were both not surprised, and very overjoyed to confirm their suspicions. Their witch pauses looking around the cottage, "Where is Crowley anyway?" 

"Oh, I am not supposed to ask. Though I believe he is upstairs. Perhaps you can persuade him to come down and join us?" 

"I think I will." Rising to the challenge, Anathema marches upstairs. 

It works. Not long after Anathema disappears from view, his husband emerges, darting down the stairs. "Crowley, this is Charlotte. Newton's mother."

"Pleasure. Let me show you to the guest cottage." He offers in haste. Turning to his angel Crowley steals a quick kiss. "I will be right back."

"Take your time dearest." Appreciatively admiring his husband as he leaves he can't help but smile. Excusing himself he relieves Sera of her duties. Returning with two early offerings of wine, sure the spices hadn't had time to properly infuse.

Accepting her glass Mrs Shadwell whispers to the angel, "He's very handsome dear." 

"Thank you. I think so as well." Aziraphale answers politely. 

"So. Tell me, love." She leans in close, speaking low so her husband couldn't hear. "Your man, is he a demon in the bed as well?"

Aziraphale turns his astonished full attention to Tracy positively scandalized by the question. "Madam! That is hardly an appropriate topic for conversation." 'He's actually rather sweet. Very attentive."

Tracy chuckles at Aziraphale's appalled reaction. "Well, you didn't get in your situation from abstinence, love." 

Heat rises in his cheeks, hand fluttering up to his belly. '"Angelic reproduction is vastly different than human's." He can't meet the woman's knowing gaze. Feeling as though she could somehow see every intimate moment they shared.

"Do tell," Tracy asks, sitting back in her chair. Sipping the warm, perfectly mulled wine. 

'"Well, if you must know its more spiritual, I suppose."

"So you two never…" she lets the question hang between them. 

"I… We…" he stumbles over his admission. 'Certainly, we have. There is nothing wrong with it. Why in Heaven's do you want to know?'

Just then the door opens, Crowley sauntering in arms full of gifts. Glad for the distraction away from their forward conversation Aziraphale turns his full attention to his husband. Eyes pleading for rescue.

Crowley sees his angel sitting rigidly with the harlot. Blue eyes as big as saucers pleading for him to intervene in some way. "Everything alright, angel?" He asks setting packages down.

"Oh, I got Aziraphale all flustered with talk of your sexual prowess," Tracy informs the demon with not an ounce of guilt in her tone.

'Prowess, huh? This should be interesting.' "Oh, and what did my angel say?" Crowley inquires flopping down on the arm of his angel's chair. 

Seeing an ally in her cause, she addresses Crowley. "Clammed up on me." She lays her hand on the anxiously fidgeting angel's knee. "Its nothing to be embarrassed about dear."

"It is a private matter." He whines defensively. 

"So, you two have been intimate?" Tracy smiles slyly. 

"We have made love, yes." He admits curtly hoping to put an end to the discussion. 'I don't see the reason for your fascination with our lovemaking?'

Tracy gives them both an incredulous roll of her eyes. "I'd imagine it's more than just making love. With a walk like that…" she flips a finger at Crowley's pelvis. "Surely your man has all kinds of tricks up his sleeves."

Crowley peers down at the indicated portion of his corporation. Finding nothing amiss he sneers at the woman, "What does my walk have to do with anything?"

Tracy gives the demon a pointed accusatory look. Surely that distinct gate was intentional. "Deary, nobody walks like that who hasn't been around the block a time or two." After 6,000 years she imagines his list of lovers would put hers to shame.

'There is only one harlot here, harlot.' "I've had you know I have only ever engaged in sins of the flesh with one being."

"Truly?" She asks in astonishment. The fact that a demon was married to an angel was shocking enough. That he was monogamous was equally surprising. That he had never sought out any other lover was almost unbelievable, but there was something in this demon's demeanour that made her believe him.

"It's not a sin." pouts Aziraphale looking to his wedding ring. ‘We are married. We have loved each other for thousands of years. God approves. Surely it can’t be a sin.’

Madam Tracy sees the angel's worry take over. If God would condemn such a sweet creature for loving their husband, they weren’t much of a God in her estimation. "No sweetheart, it isn't. And don't let anyone make you feel wrong for enjoying yourself. Just make sure you are satisfied as well." She instructs in a nurturing tone. 

Crowley smirks at the very idea that he would not do everything within his demonic power to sate his angel’s every need. "Do I satisfy, dove?"

"Crowley, please," Aziraphale begs, wanting desperately to disappear into his chair. 

‘I shouldn’t encourage this, but it is just too much fun. You are so adorable when you blush.’ "Are you going to have the lady believing I'm underperforming?" He asks as if affronted. 

‘You know very well. I have no complaints about you satisfying my desires. Lord knows how you spoil me. And it is none of anyone’s business what we do in private.’ "You are a very skilled lover. Happy?" Aziraphale snaps, refusing to look at either of his tormenters. 

Mrs Shadwell restrains a laugh at the prudish response. "Well, good. Just don't let him talk you into any of his kinks you aren't interested in. You'd be appalled by what people find arousing." She advises. The memory of a particularly revolting customer called to mind. 

"Kinks?" Aziraphale asks not knowing what the human was referring to.

"Fetishes. No matter how perverse something may sound, there's someone out there interested in it." She explains, wondering just how perverse a demon might be. 

Aziraphale stands, smoothing down his cardigan, "I should see to the hor d'oeuvres." Giving a curt nod, he hurries away before another vulgar word could be uttered. ‘Fetishes? Does Crowley have a fetish? Do I? Surely Crowley would have said something if he felt our lovemaking was lacking. Perhaps he is afraid to offend me? Maybe I should speak with him. Yes. I shall. This could be fun, right?’ He disappears into the kitchen, mind reeling with possibilities. 

Crowley, not caring if the harlot sees him as a hospitable host leave her to follow his angel. Aziraphale was already busy at the counter fussing over canapes. Making sure they are on par with the offerings at the Ritz. Coming to stand at his angel's side, he sees Aziraphale's mind chewing a thought to dust. 'Probably shouldn't have pushed it.'

Focusing on the task at hand, he feels his husband watching him. "Well, that was… enlightening" he finally says to break the silence.

'Enlightening?' Crowley snatches a dainty puff pastry with roast beef, mushrooms, and horseradish sauce. "You sure you still want them here?" He asks, popping the morsel into his mouth. 'You're getting good at this.'

"She meant no harm." He sighs, shifting the finished platter to their island, turning to the next offering of blu cheese and fig tartlets. Pausing to consider his husband from the corner of his eye, he can't help his train of thought. "Crowley?" He begins nervously. "Do… do you have any?" 'God, help me. Maybe I don't want to know. No. We are married. I love him. This is something we have to discuss.'

"Any whot?" He asks, knowing full well what his angel wanted of him. 

Willing his nervous hands still he peers up at Crowley through his lashes. "Fetishes?"

"Uh, yeah." Crowley nods resting against the counter. "A pretty bad one too." The worry evident on his angel's face is so clear he nearly laughs, giving up the game. 'Now, I am just being cruel.'

"Oh?" He asks, hesitant of what revelation may come to light. "What...What is it?" 'I have to keep an open mind. Crowley would never force me to do anything I am uncomfortable with.'

Fighting back a smirk he closes in on his angel, serpent eyes focused and intense. Taking Aziraphale's hand, he brings it to his lips. "Really have a thing for watching this angel I am hopelessly in love with fall apart in my arms." He kisses soft knuckles reverently. "Really does it for me."

Tsksing his annoyance, he turns back to the counter. "I'm serious, Crowley." A hand snakes around his middle, drawing him into his husband's arms.

Leaning in Crowley whispers in his angel's ear in the deep tone he knows Aziraphale can't resist. "I am too. Watching you come undone is the sexiest thing in the world."

A shiver runs the length of his spine. 'Good Lord. You do that far too well.' "Really?" He breathes out feeling a rush of desire swell within him.

"Yup." 'And the sounds you make.'

"So there isn't anything else?"

"Well, that leather number was pretty interesting." He admits, knowing it most likely wouldn't fit anymore.

All trepidation fades, replaced by his husband's soothing warmth. "Well if you think of others I would be willing to discuss them."

"You'll be the first to know." Crowley agrees, pressing a kiss to his angel's cheek. 

After their guests are all settled in and migrate toward the lounge, Aziraphale serves the refreshments. Everyone drinks and chatters amongst each other. Their cottage felt full of life and joy. Sera listening intently to anyone who would acquaint her with what it meant to live on Earth. Aziraphale hadn't realised until that moment how much he missed his little corner in Soho. 

Sera's glass sat empty at her side. Aziraphale takes it up offering to bring her another, which she gratefully accepts. Wandering into their kitchen, he finds his husband sitting on their counter, scrolling through his cellular telephone. Avoiding their guest undoubtedly. Deciding that wouldn't do he ladles two cups of the mulled wine he offers them to his husband. "Here." 'Bit of social lubricant.'

'Not only do we have a herd of humans in our home. Now you want me to play servant. You are lucky I love you.' Accepting the glasses, he huffs. "Who's this for?"

"That one is Sera's. And the other is for you, dearest." He says swaying, pleased with his ingenious idea. 

Handing the wine back, he declines, "Angel, if you can't, I am not…"

Aziraphale stops his husband with a quick kiss. "Tonight my wonderful husband, I insist. Go have a drink with your sister." He pushes the wine back towards Crowley. 

"You sure?" He asks with a furrow of his brow. 'I am half responsible. I shouldn't get a pass just because of some stupid holiday.'

'I never cared if you drank. I want you to enjoy yourself. And you clearly aren't.' "Yes. Go." He smiles sweetly. 

Crowley reluctantly accepts. Sauntering into the noisy room, taking the seat nearest his sister. Aziraphale watches contently from the entryway. Everyone smiling, eating, and reminding him why he loved Earth so much. 'This is our life now, little one. Friends, a home, your father. It was all worth it. We are so lucky, aren't we?' 

He allows himself to savour the simple joy of the moment. 6000 years taught him to enjoy even the most fleeting moments of goodness one could happen upon. Everything was as it should be, and he was infinitely grateful for it. 

After a time dessert is served. Mini mince pies, sticky toffee pudding, profiteroles, and apple tartlets are presented. Feeling the rigours of the day, and their early morning, Aziraphale nestles into his husband's side, sleep threatening to claim him. A loud, unexpected knock came at the door. He and Crowley look at one another. "Who do you suppose?"

"I've got it," Crowley says, untangling himself from his angel. Being as all of their guests are present and accounted for he approaches the door cautiously. Hand resting on the handle, fearing what awaits on the other side. He opens, ready to protect his family. 'Oh, for fuck's sake.'

A group of elderly carolers, dressed in rediculous Dickens costumes, burst into song "Hark! The Herald angel sings glory to the newborn king."

Holding up a hand, he silences the pensioners, "Let me stop you there." Calling out behind him, "Angel did Gabriel sing to announce Jesus?"

"No, dearest." Aziraphale answers casually. Already up coming to see the troop of singers spreading holiday cheer.

"See, factually inaccurate. Plus he was a shit. You wouldn't like em." He slams the door in their faces. 

"Crowley." Aziraphale scolds, reopening the door.

The elderly singers burst into song again. "The holly and the ivy,  
When they are both full grown."

"You can't be serious." Crowley groans in agony, as the pitchy carolling continues to grow louder, the longer the door remains open. 'You probably came up with this nonsense.' He momentarily considers shifting his form to give the obnoxious humans a fright to send them fleeing from their cottage.

'The term humbug was invented for you.' "It's delightful." Aziraphale beams enjoying the song. Even if one woman sang a bar behind the rest. 

Soon he is joined by their guests. All, save Shadwell listen as the carolers sing through several classic songs. Charlotte chiming in with a breathy, surprisingly good soprano voice. Sera, a bit tipsy by that point sways mindlessly to the tunes. 

Crowley having figured the only threat posed was to his ears, and sanity, leaves his angel. Taking up his former spot, he throws back what wine still remains in his glass. Across from him, Shadwell sat grumpily glaring at the fire.

"N'sufferable. Ah'm no gonna line up to have a buncha ninnies warble at me all aftanun." 

Crowley slouches on the sofa hating the thought he and the old conman are in agreement over anything. Watching the retired Witchfinder shove a mince pie into his mouth he can't resist. "How's the pie?"

Speaking around the mouth full of flaky crust, "Oh, ets excellent. Yur wife knows her way round the kechen."

"I made those m'self. Secret ingredient." He says with feigned sincerity.

"O? Wateset?" He asks eating another.

Waiting until the greedy man plucks up a third, he announces, "Hemlock. I have no idea why God decided to make some plants poisonous. Stops human's breathing. Goes great with the brandy and raisins though. Eat up. There is plenty more where those came from."

Shadwell sets the pie back down. Fearfully waiting for any sign of laboured breathing. Satisfied by the look of horror on the miserable human's face, Crowley goes to refill his wine. 

After a resounding finale of Joy to the World, the performance concluded. Sera and Charlotte clapping enthusiastically. Aziraphale excuses himself to gather the customary reward for their efforts. 

Crowley watches his angel prepare six glasses of wine and a plate of pies intending to feed the sods. As his Aziraphale leaves with a tray, he shouts, "Oi! Don't encourage them. They'll be back every year." 

"That is precisely the point, dearest." He calls over his shoulder.

Crowley hurries to follow. After his angel distributed the offerings, he dismisses the crowd dismissively, "Alright bugger off. Find someone else's door to squawk at."

Taking his husband's arm to silence any further rudeness Aziraphale smiles "Happy Christmas everyone. You did a wonderful job." The door is closed, and everyone returns to the lounge.

They all sit around exchanging tales of bygone Christmases. Newton's mother sharing every embarrassing story of his childhood with Anathema. Much to the young man's horror. Crowley and Sera disappear to parts unknown as the sweet lady begins telling of the time Newt broke his arm, attempting to sled while on holiday with his grandparents.

Trying to spare what little dignity he still could Newton pipes up, "Let's play a game." 

Delighted by the suggestion Aziraphale perks up, "I enjoy a good game. What shall it be charades? Cards? Blind Man's Bluff?"

Not having thought past ending his mother's stories, he looks around the room anxiously. "Um...Never... Have I Ever?"

Unfamiliar with the game, Aziraphale asks, "Never have I ever? What in Heaven's name is that?"

"Well...you hold up your fingers. Then you go around the table, and each person states something they have never done. If someone else has they put down their finger." Newt says realising he probably should have suggested cards.

"Or drink." Offers Anathema.

"Yes, we'll. You can do that too." Newt reluctantly agrees seeing where this was headed.

"I can't drink." Pouts Aziraphale, sweeping a hand over his belly. 

"You can use your fingers, love," Tracy says, patting his knee.

"Alright. Anathema if you will get the wine I will find Crowley and Sera. Wherever they have gotten off too."

Aziraphale eventually finds them in the greenhouse. Sitting on Crowley's workbench side by side. Sera looking downcast as Crowley speaks. 

"It can only end bad Sera. Do you want that?" He asks with brotherly concern.

"There you are," Aziraphale says, announcing his presence should he be intruding on a private conversation.

"Hey, angel." Crowley smiles warmly.

Taking this as an invitation to approach, he continues, "Our guests want to play a game if you are up to it."

"What game?" Asks Sera mood shifting back to her typical whimsy.

"Something called Never Have I Ever." 'The details are a bit vague.'

Grinning wickedly Crowley pops down from his perch. "C'mon. This should be interesting." He throws an arm around his angel's shoulders fully intending to enjoy the chaos to come.

They all gather in the lounge. Rearranging the furniture to create a circle. Aziraphale and Crowley taking up the entirety of the love seat. With Crowley’s long leg spread along the back, the other on the floor, so his angel might sit between them. An arm wrapped around Aziraphale’s middle, thumb absently caressing their child. "A'right. Who goes first?" he asks, taking a sip of wine. 

Aziraphale smiles, "Newton. It was your suggestion. Why don't you start?"

Newt appeared alarmed being asked to lead them off. "Ok," he says, before clearing his throat. "Here goes. Never have I ever...enjoyed a Robert Pattinson movie." Newton smiles, figuring his answer is most amusing. 

Crowley scoffs, stealing the young man’s proud grin. "C'mon. You can do better th’n that. If we are going to play, make it interesting." He demands, drinking more wine. Forgetting it to be the punishment of the game. 

"A-alright,” Newt answers sheepishly. “Um...never have I...gone a week without bathing?" he offers emphasising the lift in the tone of the question. 

Shadwell takes up his glass, "Aye...I am supposed to drink then?" When everyone nods he drinks. Anathema seesthat his glass is refilled. 

"Um...what...” Aziraphale glances back at Crowley who already had his wine glass to his mouth. “what if you don't necessarily need to bathe?" ‘It’s not as if I was unhygienic. Lord knows bathing wasn’t always so frequent.’

"Still counts." Barks Shadwell. 

"I have a feeling we are going to lose this, angel," Crowley says, leaning in to press a kiss to the back of Aziraphal’s neck. ‘God, you smell amazing.’

Going counter-clockwise Anathema is next. She, less anxious by nature than her boyfriend was already prepared, "never have I ever been arrested." This was declared with a look to her mother. Who raises her glass in salute, but didn’t drink. 

Watching he notices his angel does not put down a second finger, "Put down a finger, angel."

Aziraphale pouts over his shoulder at his husband. "But that was a mistake," he whines, hands nervously wringing. ‘I shouldn’t have been arrested. If this were modern times, it wouldn’t have happened. Or at least I hope such madness is never possible again.’

"Were you not…” Crowley begins forcefully, slurring a bit in each word, “in a jail cell, in irons, awaiting execution?" He stares back at his angel with a cocked brow. ‘You don’t even have to drink. Just admit it.’

"Fine. I was." Aziraphale says, turning back to the humans. Begrudgingly lowering a second finger.

"Wha wer ya arrested far?"Shadwell asks seriously considering that perhaps the blonde might be more dangerous then he has estimated. The demon having not drank means he was either more clever or less prone to deeds worthy of arrest. The angel seemed to want to lie even now to cover up their wicked deeds. 

"Crepes." Aziraphale sighs resting fully against his husband. ‘And good company.’ 

Shadwell grimaces, thinking this too must be a lie. Surely no one has ever been nearly executed for dessert. "I've ner eaten a crepe." The room accepts this as close as they would get to Shadwell participating. 

Everyone drinks. Anathema passes the nearly empty bottle to the right, and a second full one to the left for each player to refill. When everyone has settled once again, they look to the former psychic for her round.

Tracy sits forward, patting her hair, making sure it was in place. "Goodness me. Never have I ever...been with a woman." She laughs lightly peering at her opponents. 

"That's surprising," Crowley mumbles into his glass. Drinking and refilling figuring Aziraphale's current presentation counts.

"What do you mean by, been with?" Sera questions the older woman. Afterall there were women in the room. Did that not count?

"Sssex, Ssera." Crowley blurts out with a light hiss. He was sufficiently drunk by this point and made no attempt to hide his serpent nature. 

All the men present drink, including Ysabel and Anathema. Newt reels around in surprise when the latter tips her glass back. "Truly?" He asks as she refills her glass.

"My second to last year of college." She shrugs as if nobody should be in the least surprised. 

Crowley and Aziraphale taking note of their midwife's silent admission. Sera does as well. Orange intently watching the way her kissing partners lips pressed to her glass. Eyes fluttering closed as she drank. 

Aziraphale notices this as well. And wonders to himself if it was in the nature of all Seraphim, current and former, to be drawn so intently to something. He adores his husband's devoted attention, but he wasn't certain if a human would. Or at the least this particular human. 'Shouldn't have let them kiss.'

Charlotte is next. In her sweet light voice, she announces, "never have I ever gone skinny dipping."

Aziraphale raises a hand, "Again, does it count if it was common long ago?" Knowing the response, he lowers a finger.

"Yes." Anathema coughs after a large gulp of wine. Everyone except Sera shares in the compulsory drink.

They come to Ysabel, who has been sitting quietly to that point. She taps the bowl of her glass in contemplation. "Never have I ever...had wings."

"Thas pro-prof." 'Words are hard. "Racist." He blurts out, running a finger over the blade of Aziraphale's shoulder. Causing his angel to shiver against him. 'We haven't done your wings yet this week. That always ends well. Why are all these humans here?'

"I haven't," Ysabel says smugly. 

"Fine," Crowley growls, not genuinely put out by the requirement to further slip into drunkenness. 

Aziraphale perks up at his chance to pose a question, "never have I ever...been to America." 'Two can play your game, my dear woman.'

"Touche" Ysabel smiles, raising her glass to Aziraphale. She is followed by Anathema and Crowley in drinking.

Shakily Crowley refills his glass, "Right.' He grins wickedly at Ysabel. 'Time to confess witch.' "Never have I eva not told...someone in this rum...room... I fancied them, and I do." 

"Is that currently or ever in the past?" Aziraphale feels perhaps his husband has forgotten key moments over the past 6,000 years in his current state. 

"Current," Crowley whispers in his angel's ear. Serpent eyes locked on the composed woman.

Ysabel doesn't shy away for the blatant accusation. Instead, she looks to Sera and drinks. The Seraph echoing the answer. Anathema gapes at her mother. Madam Tracy discreetly takes a sip but only to keep from commenting. 

Aziraphale turns to look at his husband, "Should you be encouraging this?"

'Sera wanted to know. Now she does.' "Just curious." He answers, caressing his angel's arm.

Sera, relatively clear-minded, faintly offers, "Never have I ever...had sex." She can't meet the groups stare. Perhaps it was inappropriate, but it was in keeping with the rules. And it almost guaranteed everyone had.

"Speak up!" Shadwell shouts. His own words coming out muddled. "We canna hear you, girl."

"Had sex," he annunciates her response in an irritated tone. As expected all, save from the neverer drinks. 

They come to Newt once more "never have I ever been married." He states with a hint of melancholy. Most drink and new bottles are passed around. 

Anathema seizes a chance at revenge for being struck by a particular antique car, "never have I ever been to hell."

Crowley clutches Aziraphale's arm to remind his angel not to answer. "Like mother like daughter." He groans carefully watching delicate fingers. "Cheers." Making a show of proudly drinking, he drains his glass in one fluid gulp. 'Why is everyone after me tonight?'

They continue for several more rounds. Each person playing more strategically as they go along. Crowley, the only one who is able to make Sera drink. Aziraphale has to stop the game and have Mrs Shadwell clarify what she meant by the mile-high club. Upon explanation, he lowers his last digit.

"I am out of fingers. What do I do now?" He sighs lacing his now free hand with Crowley's

"You are out." Newt slurs listing against Anathema.

Aziraphale looks around the group. Shadwell is snoring loudly on Tracy's shoulder. The former Madam resting back in her chair, holding her wine glass in both hands. Charlotte and Ysabel seem to be fairing better, the just marginally. Crowley behind him hasn't moved in some time. Head resting against the cushion of their sofa in apparent sleep. 

Figuring their game is at an end Aziraphale stands, smoothing down his beloved cardigan. "Newton?" He calls the young man's attention. "Will you help me get my husband to bed?"

Newton scrambles to his feet. Arms thrown wide for stability. Aziraphale pulls his husband's leg off the couch and places Crowley's arm over his shoulder. Newton does the same with the other. They rise up slowly. "Alright dearest, up you get."

"Uh...w-wha are… do'n?" Crowley manages to ask, be it nearly incomprehensible. 

"We are helping you to bed." Aziraphale answers. Thankful his husband still appears to be able to somewhat walk. 'Now we just need to negotiate the stairs.'

"Nessst." Crowley hisses correcting the stranger's words. "M-my angel...built it. Bafore we got...marr...married." He squints at the dark-haired man to his left. "I love my wife...no...husband...suppose thas not righ either...I don't care. All the same ta me." He feels his feet hit the first step. "Bugger. Stairs." The blonde to his right pulls him along. "Their name is Aziraphale." He announces loudly "Most gor...gorg...beutiful thi'n I have ever seen. And I've seen a'lot." He emphasises the last fixing the man to his left with a focused glare. "Dun't see wha my angel sees in me…" trailing off as he misses a step. He looks down to make sure to get it on his second attempt. "Must be do'n somenath'n right." He tells the floor.

"You shouldn't be unkind to yourself." Aziraphale scolds taking the final step.

"Aziraphale is hav'n my baby. Did ya know tha? Me a dad? Did'n think we could." He admits with a cock of his head. "I can't wait to be a dad. Hope I don't screw em up. Like everything else." The last he mumbles to himself. "Where we going?"

'God, help me.' "To bed." Aziraphale answers turning them for their bedroom. 

"Hold on, I have to say gu'night," Crowley says, slipping free from their hold with astonishing ease. He clings to the railing as he stumbles down the hall.

Sighing in frustration, Aziraphale calls out, "Dearest, where are you going?" He follows closely behind, at the ready should his husband take a tumble. "You can hardly stand."

"I have to say go'night." He practically shouts back to his escorts. Reaching the door to his scarcely utilized office, he all but falls inside. Shambling over to his desk, he pulls the drawer open. He goes still. Frantically he swipes his hand around the drawer, hoping to find them hidden. 'No. No. No. No. I put them here.' "Where are they?" This time he does shout. Panic slightly sobering his mind.

"Where is what, my love?" Aziraphale asks guiltily. 

Crowley tries the other drawer, pulling it completely free from his desk. "Alexandria! I had their pictures. Where...I have ta find them." 'I can't have lost them. Could someone have taken them? Why would they want our pictures?'

Coming to his husband's side, he stays his hand from reducing his desk to a pile of splinters in his frenzied search, "I will look for them. Come to bed."

Grasping the blonde by their shoulders, he begs "Please, I have to find them." 

"I am sure they will turn up after you have had a good rest," Aziraphale says slowly backing them from the room.

"Alright." Crowley relents, following the blonde. The dark-haired man comes to them and helps stabilize his shifting gate once more. 

In their room, they set Crowley down on the edge of their nest. Who proceeds to flop dramatically into the bedding. 'Lord, look at the state of you.' "Thank you, Newton, I have it from here." Aziraphale dismisses their friend to go find his own bed.

Sitting next to his husband he snaps, rendering Crowley in nothing but his briefs. The sudden loss of clothing seeming to alarm him has him recoiling away, nearly toppling from their nest.

"No. Get away. I love my angel." Crowley demands wrapping himself in their blanket.

"For Heaven's sake Crowley" he complains coming around their nest to force his husband to make eye contact. "It's me." 

"Oh, hey, dove." He smiles in recognition. Pale features and starlight hair finally coming into focus. "You are so beautiful."

"Thank you, dearest, now help me get you in bed."

"Make love to me, angel." he pleads, tugging at the hem of Aziraphale's skirt. 

"Crowley, you are drunk." He says, sure his husband wouldn't have the wherewithal to know what he was doing. 

"Whot dus that have to do with e'nythin? I-I can s...s-s..sober up." he slurs. 

"No miracles, remember?"

"Shit," he sighs. "I'll have a hangover in the morning."

"Most likely." Aziraphale agrees, shrugging out of his cashmere cardigan. 

'Worth it.' "Make love to me," he begs again, this time taking his angel's hand. 

"Crowley dearest you need to rest." 'I don't like the idea of taking advantage of you in your current state. You probably won't even remember this in the morning.'

'Rest can bloody well wait. I want you.' Rising up, he pulls his angel into him. "Please make love to me," he asks loud enough for their guests to hear. 

"Alright!" Aziraphale agrees, covering his mouth. 'Do you want the whole cottage to know?' "Alright. Just keep it down." Quickly he divests himself of his skirt and blouse. Placing them aside just so. 

Watching, Crowley feels his member instantly respond. "God, you are beautiful. You have always been so beautiful." 'Lucky fucking bastard, me.'

"Shhhh." Aziraphale scolds. While he is grateful for the compliment, he had to impress upon his husband the need for discretion. 

"Sorry." He says reclining back on his elbows. Aziraphale slips from the pink bra. Unable to resist the heavy curve of his angel's breasts, he sits up, gently cupping one so he can caress it. "They have gotten big, haven't they?" Leaning in, he pauses, mouth hovering over one perk nipple. "May I, dove?"

"Yes, just please keep it down," he demands. 

Crowley takes the flushed bud into his mouth. Tongue tasting, flicking. Teeth grazing as he pulls free. Aziraphale's hands pull his hair free from the elastic. Crimson waves spilling down his back. Delicate fingers combing over his scalp. He sees to the first breast. Drawing panting gasps from his angel, who tries to stifle every moan. Shifting to the other he kneads the free breast, thumb brushing over sensitive nipple. "Your skin. You smell like honey and warm summer air. Even with your cologne, I can still smell it." he admits aloud, nuzzling between his angel's breasts. 'I love your scent.'

Wrapping his arms around his angel's waist, he presses a kiss to Aziraphale's belly. Looking back up, he slips his hands into his angel's undergarment. "Can I, dove?"

"Yes, my love."

Crowley draws down the pink lace, kissing his angel's hip. Giving the plump curve a quick nip before soothing with his tongue. The little inhale and pulse of pleasure, letting him know it was well received. "C'mere." He asks, laying back, drawing Aziraphale on to him. Seeing his angel going to remove his briefs, he stays Aziraphale's hand. "No." He guides his angel to kneel in the centre of the bed. Slipping between luscious thighs, he encourages Aziraphale to lower down to his mouth.

Tongue lapping at the seam of his angel's folds he takes his time. Arms wrapping around each thigh, locking Aziraphale in place. He tilts his chin up, mouth claiming the little fleshy pearl. Flicking his tongue, he hears the breathy gasp involuntarily forced from his angel. 

From his position, Aziraphale can clearly see his husband's length laying hard beneath his briefs. He bows forward drawing his effort free, taking it into the warmth of his mouth. A throaty groan hummed into his own arousal. He caresses the tip with his tongue mimicking Crowley's ministrations. 

Crowley licks to his angel's entrance, pressing his tongue inside. Aziraphale responds by taking him fully into the heat of his angel's throat. With no ability to resist in his drunken state, his hips buck, sheathing himself deeper. He quickly returns to the bud of nerves and works it with vigorous intent. Sucking and licking in unison. Drawing off to hungrily return, driving his angel to the peak. Every focused caress sends barbs shooting through him in a maddening symphony of sensation.

Answering his husband's attentions in-kind, Aziraphale works his length in full determined slides. Pausing to attend to the head before taking his husband all the way in once more. He tried to keep pace, but as his own climax drew near, it became increasingly difficult to maintain focus. Several times he loses all sense of his purpose. Going still moaning around Crowley's effort. The thrust of his husband's hips to the vibration renewing his resolve to see to his satisfaction.

Crowley feels his angel struggling to remain in control. He doubles his attention to force Aziraphale over the peak. It is there, pulsing into him in unrelenting barbs. Unable to resist any longer his angel rises off of his arousal, hand working him as Aziraphale gasps their release. Hips rolling into his mouth as he draws out the climax to the fullest.

Crowley slips free, drawing his still trembling angel down to him. Cradling Aziraphale in his arms, he caresses soft, relaxed features. Kissing the tip of perfect nose his bathed in the warmth of his angel's love. 'I could stay, just like this for the rest of eternity.'

It would seem that Aziraphale had other plans. His angel's hand finds him and takes up its stroking once more. Spreading his legs, he encourages his yet unsated husband on top of him, though mindful of his bump.   
"Can you manage?" he asks, guiding his effort to his own. 

"F'course." Crowley purrs with only the hint of a slur. Thrusting up he hears his angel's breath catch. "God, you're so warm."

"C-Crowley, please." he struggles to speak as his husband pulls nearly free, only to press firmly back inside. 'You are wonderfully warm as well.'

Crowley isn't sure if the please was asking for his silence of for him to get on with it. Deciding it must be the latter, he sets a steady rhythm. Languidly out then forcefully in. His angel clings to him. Head thrown back in their bedding. Throat straining from each moan that is denied. "I love you," Crowley whispers against Aziraphale's lips. 

"I love you too." Aziraphale keens before sealing their mouths. 

Crowley works his angel back towards the peak, his own nearing quicker than he had hoped. It isn't long before Aziraphale gives in and lets huffing little keens carry through the air. Face buried in his shoulder. Crowley can't stop the words that fall from his mouth. "I love the sounds you make. Please let me hear you. God, you feel so good. "

Aziraphale moans his husband's name. Everything within him demanding he obeys Crowley's request. He is spiralling near the peak, lost to the world beyond them. He can tell by the clench of his husband's jaw he is near as well. 

"Just like that, dove." He speeds up, grunting with each thrust.  
Aziraphale's soft moans give way to desperate keens as his angel claws at his back. "Come for me, dove."

Aziraphale does, panting, convulsing in Crowley's arms. Legs wrapping around his husband's waist encouraging him to finish. It is but a few thrusts later he does. Spilling, his breath ragged as he stutters to a stop. 

"You are amazing, dove." he pants brushing sweat-soaked ringlets from his angel's face.

"So are you." he smiles sleepily up into golden eyes. "Now rest. We have a busy day tomorrow."

Crowley collapses at his angel's side, drawing their tartan blanket over them. Pulling Aziraphale into him, he kisses them one last time. "Goodnight, dove." 

"Goodnight my love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be lengthy. And include two illustrations. Both which are already done. Thank you all for sticking with me this far!


	34. Have Yourself A Merry Little Chistmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas! Fluff, several surprises, and a bit of smut....I blame the dress.

Wednesday 25 December 2019

6:15 am

The Cottage

Christmas had finally arrived. The sun had yet to crest the horizon, but one angel was already awake. Laying beside his sleeping husband, Aziraphale watches peacefully resting features. Reverently studying each little aspect that made Crowley so irresistibly beautiful. The subtle kiss of freckles that were so faint they may go unnoticed. Creasing near his gloriously beautiful eyes, not caused by age. Rosy lips softly parted as he slept, the bottom lip far fuller than the upper. Every imperfection somehow it's own perfect expression of the being that resides with. 

His heart swelled with his profound, immeasurable love for his husband. A soft smile played at the corners of Crowley's mouth. Every fractal of his essence wanted to reach out. To trace every inch of his husband's form. Perhaps rest his head on lean muscular chest and feel the steady rhythm of his heart against his cheek. Breath in Crowley's unique scent he had grown to think of as a comfort. Where other angels might smell evil, Aziraphale sensed damp soil, rich spices, and the faint scent of smoke. Smoke similar to a roaring fire in a hearth. Home.

'I love nothing so much as I love you.' 

This is what they fought for. Why they risked everything together. For this. Simple precious moments of time that they could be together. Not enemies. Not opposing forces destined to thwart the other. Together, as lovers, mates, bonded to each other for all time. The simple act of sharing a bed. Not for the purpose of making love, but allowing one's self to trust another so completely all defences are forgotten. 

The guilt of his many failings regarding his beloved threatened to invade his serene reverie. Yet, Crowley had forgiven him. Without the asking, his husband had put so many of their painful moments behind him. Aziraphale forced the thoughts from his mind. Choosing instead to be in the present. And what a present it was. 

'Thank you. Thank you for making all of this possible. For 6,000 years of possible. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be as we are now.'

Confident his husband would prefer a few more hours of rest after their night, he silently slips from their nest. Standing in their bathroom, he turns to the side, sweeping a hand over his bare belly. Their child fluttering seemingly in response. "Happy Christmas Alexandria." 'Twenty one more weeks and we will get to officially meet you. I look so forward to it. So does your father. I hope you know how loved you are.' Another happy flutter answers him. 

Showering, he decides comfort is the order of the morning. Slipping on a loose soft wool dress and leggings, he heads downstairs. Their cottage is silent. All of their guests most likely still sleeping off the effects of the wine. Aziraphale prepares tea and coffee. Setting to work baking enough scones and crumpets to feed a small army. His thoughts never far from his dutiful, kind, wonderous husband.

Having placed the warm baked goods in the dining room, he returns to start preparing the main fare for breakfast when his solitude was broken with a “Happy Christmas Aziraphale, " from Mrs Shadwell. Looking refreshed and elegant in an emerald green sheath dress and large holly pin at the collar.

“Happy Christmas Tracy. How are you this wonderful morning?” Aziraphale asks, placing a large pan on the stove.

“Tiptop. You look positively radiant today, love. Practically glowing." Tracy gives the angel a knowing look. The walls of the cottage were made of sturdier stuff than her old flat's, but they were by no means soundproof. "You have tea, love?”

The way the former psychic regards him sends a flush to his cheeks. Not wanting to encourage any further discussions about his intimate private moments with Crowley Aziraphale answers her question quickly, “Yes. I’ll pour you a cup.”

“I’ve got it, love. You are busy.” Tracy says, taking up the beautiful pot. Resting against the counter, she sips the perfectly prepared tea. Letting the warmth suffuse into her. “I had a lovely time last night, dear.”

“I did, as well." Affirms Aziraphale, hoping to move the topic way from any thought of himself. "That was an interesting game.”

“Yes, it was.” she agrees, thinking back on all the fascinating insights she learned about the group. 

Aziraphale was placing bacon in the heated pan when a groan from the hall draws his attention. Dressed in his black pyjamas Crowley shambles into the kitchen looking woefully miserable. 'Lord, you look as awful as those corpses you conjured for the children.' “Happy Christmas, my love.”

“Happy Christmas,” he grumbles, flopping down at their breakfast table. Firey curls cascading in front of his pained expression as he holds his throbbing skull. "Why did you make me drink last night?"

“Dearest, I offered you a single glass. You did the rest on your own.” Aziraphale reminds, removing the pan from the heat so he could attend to his husband. Crossing their kitchen, he stands before Crowley who pulls him into a hug around his waist. Forehead resting against his belly. As Aziraphale begins carding his fingers through mussed crimson waves, he spared no thought as to what their audience of one might think. 

Tilting his head back, he peers up at loving sapphires. Pleading helplessly, “Will you please make it go away?”

Aziraphale cups either side of his husband's face, thumbs caressing prominent cheekbones. “Of course.” bowing he presses his lips to his brow. 

The crushing misery subsides. Replaced by a pleasant warmth that pushes through his essence. Erasing all evidence of the consequences of excessive drinking. His body relaxes in blessed relief. Smiling like the besotted fool, he knew he was, he holds his angel a bit tighter. “Thanks, dove.”

“Better?” Aziraphale asks clutching Crowley to him. 

“Much.” Crowley cranes up, lips pursed, expecting. His angel bows again giving him a quick peck. 'I'm always better in your arms.' 

Nearly melting at witnessing the tenderness of the two before her Tracy can't help commenting, “You two are honestly adorable.”

"I am a demon. Demons are not adorable," corrects Crowley. 'Not for the likes of you anyways.'

Giving the demon a disbelieving look, Tracy silently holds to her original assessment. The redhead may be a demon, but he hardly seemed more than a kitten when with his angel. 

After some time, and the completion of the bacon, the trio are joined by the majority of the remaining guests. Shadwell still in his clothing from the previous day appearing green. Anathema and Newt both quietly looking pitiful. Charlotte slightly less so, but only just. 

“Oh, you poor dears.” Aziraphale coos. With a snap, he heals the lot. Tension fading instantly. Ever the attentive host Aziraphale offers, “I have coffee and tea prepared. Breakfast will be ready in a while. Scones and crumpets are in the dining room. Do help yourselves.”

Everyone begins milling about. Most making their way into the dining room as suggested. Anathema lingers, taking up a seat next to Crowley. Looking like a fox spying an unsuspecting flock of chickens. "Hey, Crowley."

"Bookgirl." Crowley acknowledges her address though his focus remains on his coffee.

Smiling mischievously Anathema watches the demon's face. "Do you know where Sera is?"

"No," Crowley answers absently. "What has she done now?" Taking a sip of coffee, he tries for apathetic boredom. 

Smugly grinning Anathema can't help but proudly announce, "My mom."

Crowley nearly chokes on his coffee. Coughing as he stares at the witch in shock, mouth agape. Looking to his angel, he sees his reaction reflected back. 'Wasted no time. Who the Hell am I to judge. I'd have married Aziraphale on the wall if I had the chance. Suppose she could do worse.' Collecting himself be shrugs, "Your point?"

Pushing her glasses further on the bridge of her nose, she asks in a serious, contemplative tone, "So, should I call your uncle Crowley now, or?"

'Like Hell, you will.' "Careful Bookgirl. I know where all the worst pits in Hell are."

"I am sorry uncle Crowley. I'll just have to wait until after the wedding." Anathema chides with a mocking pout.

"Marriage?" Shrieks Aziraphale. 'Surely not. They have only just met. Lord, I hope the dear girl knows what she is doing.'

The door to cottage opens and in walks Sera hand and hand with Ysabel. Crowley and Aziraphale both exchange glances. Aziraphale's saying 'I told you not to encourage this.' Crowley's very much, indicating his sister could do as she pleases. Figuring even without his help, those two were on an ill-fated crash course for each other. 

"Happy Christmas." Sera beams brightly to the group. Practically vibrating with enthusiasm. 

"Happy Christmas Sera. Ysabel." Aziraphale greets with a little bow. 

"Merry Christmas," Ysabel says, releasing Sera's hand. She crosses the kitchen to give Anathema a kiss on the crown of her head. "Merry Christmas Mi Amor."

"Merry Christmas mom." Anathema echos.

Crowley cocks a brow at the senior witch. 'You best not hurt her. She may do as she likes, but I will not have you treating her like a disposable plaything.'

Seeing the brotherly warning clearly in serpent eyes, Ysabel gives Crowley a nod. She knew what his kind was capable of when provoked. Sera was a pure soul, and she had no intention of seeing such grace tainted by heartbreak. Truth be told she understood the moment the Seraph had come to her, it would not be a simple matter of carnal curiosity. 

After being informed of the food waiting in the next room, Sera takes Ysabel into the dining room. Anathema following to join the group. When they are alone, Crowley saunters over to his angel. Arms wrapping around Aziraphale's middle, chin resting on the soft shoulder. "Could be worse." 

"It could. Ysabel is a sensible woman. And your sister seems very taken with her." Aziraphale concludes, momentarily slipping from his husband to place the breakfast casserole into the oven. 

"S'ppose," Crowley mumbles against his angel's temple. Pressing a kiss, he holds his family to him. Swaying with Aziraphale as his angel finished preparing breakfast. A Bob Dylan song pops into his mind causing him to absently hum along with the internal tune. His essence fully content in their little bubble of privacy.

"What are you singing?" Aziraphale asks, resting back against Crowley.

Kissing the juncture between his angel's neck and shoulders, he mutters, "Just a song." 

"Will you play it for me," Aziraphale asks sweetly, caressing his husband's forearm. 'You are so conscientious with my interests. I want you to share yours with me as well.'

"It's not Christmasy," Crowley informs drawing his phone from his pocket all the same. Entering in a more modern recording by a female artist. 'Dylan may have been good with lyrics. But his voice left a lot to be desired.'

"I don't care." Aziraphale rests his head to Crowley's shoulder wanting to give the song, and husband, his full attention. 

From the little device, a soothing, simple piano intro begins. Followed by the velvety voice of a woman who sounded as though every word came from a deep personal understanding.

_ When the rain is blowing in your face _

_ And the whole world is on your case _

_ I could offer you a warm embrace _

_ To make you feel my love. _

Crowley whispers the words into his angel's ear. Lips brushing light caresses on each brief pause the singer takes. 

_ When the evening shadows and the stars appear _

_ And there is no one there to dry your tears _

_ I could hold you for a million years _

_ To make you feel my love. _

Crowley draws his arms firmly around his angel. Face buried against Aziraphale's shoulder. His essence hoping they had a million years and more to share together. Feeling a gentle hand caress his cheek, he leans into it. 'I love you so much. I only ever wanted this.'

Aziraphale concentrates on every word. Wondering if, in fact, Crowley may have inspired this artist as well. The lyrics spoke to him, conveying what often they had forgone saying to each other. Near the end, he couldn't stifle the little breathy sob. 'I know, my love. I know you would do anything for us. And I hope you know I would do anything for you as well."

Hearing the little exhalation, Crowley turns his angel towards him. Aziraphale blinking back tears that stubbornly wet pale cheeks. "You alright, dove?" 

"It's beautiful, dearest." Aziraphale smiles up at his husband. "I do Crowley."

"Do what?" 

"I do know you love me. I hope you know I love you so ardently I would be lost without you. And I appreciate everything you selflessly do for us." Aziraphale nuzzles against his husband's chest. Focusing on the swell of love that blooms each time he thinks of his husband. Hoping Crowley would be able to sense this as well.

Crowley is suffused with loving warmth so intense it nearly burns within him. "S'not completely selfless, angel." Blue eyes look to him questioningly. "I get to see you smile. Can't say anyone could put a price on something that beautiful."

Aziraphale felt his lip quiver as renewed tears ran down his face. "Oh, Crowley. The things you say. It's truly unfair. My being pregnant makes me so emotional."

"You've always been a bit emotional. One of your many charms." Crowley purrs, wiping away his angel's happy tears. 

'You are so good to me. I hope I can always be deserving of your love.' "Please, please kiss me." Blue eyes plead with gold.

"Anything for you, dove." Crowley leans in, sealing their mouths in a tender lingering kiss. Aziraphale's perfectly soft body pressing against him. Gentle fingers tangle in his hair holding him in place. He'd be lying if he said he didn't thoroughly enjoy the way his angel seemed to fervently relish playing in the long waves. Pulling back, he gazes down on flushed hauntingly beautiful features. Eyes heavily lidded as they dreamily flutter open. "Better?"

'For now.' "Yes my, love." Aziraphale can only manage to whisper.

When at last the hearty casserole is finished they go to their guests. Crowley carrying the hot dish stating he is more suited for handling the heat. Aziraphale made sure to provide a fruit salad for Sera. Which was more often than not consumed from Ysabel's fingers. Once ending in a kiwi infused chaste kiss. Spurring Anathema to annoyingly asking her new uncle to pass the pepper. Earning her a glare and a curt refusal to do so.

As Aziraphale stands to fetch more tea for the table, he notices beyond their dining room window the delicate fall of snow. "How wondrous." He exclaims going to peer out over their lawn. A thick white blanket lay over everything where the grounds were once starkly bare. "Dearest!" He calls out, wondering if perhaps his husband may have known his secret desires and made it miraculous happen.

Crowley goes to his angel. The brilliant beckoning smile too much to deny. "Nice touch." 

"This is not my doing," Aziraphale admits now thoroughly perplexed at what caused such an odd turn of weather.

"W'den't me. Sera?" Crowley asks, disturbing the newly established pair's whispered conversation.

"What?" Sera turns with a start. Still smiling like an idiot.

"The snow Sera. Did you make it snow?" He barks back in annoyance.

"Snow!" Sera exclaims leaping from her seat to confirm her hopes. Without another word, Sera darts for Ysabel and pulls her from her seat. Dragging the confused woman from the dining room and out the front door. 

Anathema and Newt are the first to follow, with a more reasonable level of excitement. Taped to the front door is a red envelope. Mr Crowley scrawled on the front. "Crowley there is an envelope with your name on it," Anathema calls through the cottage.

Slinking to the front door, he takes up the envelope. Opening it, he reads aloud to his angel.

_ Happy Christmas Mr Crowley,  _

_ I hope you enjoy the snow. It should always snow on Christmas. Sorry, I couldn't come to your party, but I sent some presents. They should be under your tree. I think I am really getting these powers under control. I tested it out with Pepper first. Tell Aziraphale I hope he likes my book. It is about a pirate who is a famous detective. _

_ Adam _

"He is such a nice boy, isn't he?" Aziraphale smiles, slipping Crowley's scarf around his neck. With a snap, they are both dressed in appropriate winter attire. Including leather gloves for Crowley and warm blue mittens for himself. 

The air nips at the tip of his nose as they head outside. The downy fall of snowflakes dancing around them walking arm and arm towards their guests. Sera and Ysabel watch as Newt rolls snow into a sizable ball. The foremost joining in to form her own. 

Not content to be a mere bystander Crowley stoops gathering up his own little mound. After some time and a few choice words, there stood three white figures on their lawn. Newt's was a classic snowman be it a bit lumpy. Complete with a top hat, coal buttons and eyes, carrot nose, and stick arms. Aziraphale having provided everyone with their desired accoutrements. Sera's was a bit grander in size. Sporting a red wool cap and scarf, no nose, and large onyx eyes that glinted in the morning light. 

Crowley's was a much more elaborate creation. A white serpent coiled around a beautifully sculpted angel, complete with wings that folded protectively around the figures. The serpent's head nuzzled under the angel's chin. Both appearing blissfully happy. Or at least for the serpent as happy as a reptilian face was able to express.

"Show off, " grumbles Sera. Annoyed that her brother's creation made her looks childish in comparison. Newt made no comment. 

"Envy is a sssssin Sssera." Crowley playfully hisses with a cock of his hip. 

Scooping a hand full of snow, she glares at her brother. 

Seeing her intent, he points his finger as if he were scolding a petulant child, "No. No...Sera don't you…" the snowball hits it's target with divine precision. Crowley's face scrunched under the icy projectile. "Seriously?" He sighs dusting the powdery shrapnel from himself.

Sera stoops to prepare another. Crowley quicker on the draw, and with larger hands to arm himself, he lobs a colossal lump of snow at his sister. Then grabbing his angel to huddle behind a large snowbank a few meters away. Quickly amassing a large stockpile of ammo. 

Recovering from the impact Sera has only moments before another ball strikes her shoulder. Fuming that her attack was turned against her the snow melts away. She crouches, miracling her own barricade ice wall. Her own arsenal at the ready.

Anathema deciding Sera had the advantage of miracles darts behind her barrier. Newton close on her heels. There is a lull in the fire. Both sides waiting for the other to provide a clear target. 

"What are you waiting for Seraph? A bloody invitation?" Crowley shouts across no man's land. 

"Are you sure we should be doing this? Someone might get hurt." Aziraphale asks, huddled by his husband's side. No snowball in hand.

"Ready when you are brother!" Sera calls out, peering over the ice. Seeing no sign of crimson, she dips back down.

There is crunching of snow and panted breaths as Shadwell rushes over to Crowley's entrenchment. Falling to lean against the low barrier.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Barks Crowley. 

"Ya canna have a pregnant womun in battle. Go lassy get yersalf at safety." Shadwell commands with all the sincerity of a man preparing to die for Queen and country. 

"That is hardly necessary, Sergeant. I am a trained soldier of God. I can handle…" A snowball silently sails through the air. Arching over the barrier landing square in the centre of starlight curls. 

"You hit my angel!" Crowley shouts over to the enemy. 

"Sorry, Aziraphale." Calls Anathema from behind the ice. 

"That duset!" Crowley growls. "Angel keep the snowballs coming. I'll handle this." Crowley takes up an arm full of projectiles, crouching ready for the attack. Shadwell arming himself peeks over the mound.

"Dearest, do be careful," Aziraphale whispers making two large pyramids of snowballs appear.

The lawn erupts in war cries as a barrage of snow is hurled at opposing sides. Newton the only reluctant to loose his at his former Sergeant. Crowley narrowly evades several attacks before hitting Sera with another absurdly large sphere.

"Damn you, Crowley!" Sera shrieks as she topples back from the force of impact.

"Too late. Don't think I can be damned twice." Crowley picks off the nervous boy as he attempts another throw.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Sera shouts catching the Witchfinder off guard. 

"Shut ye geggie, nyaff!" Shadwell roars pelting Sera with surprising accuracy.

"Witchfinder!" Ysabel yells propelling her first attack. The old man taking a direct hit. "Toma! Cabrón!" She shouts in triumph. Sera blinks at her lover in surprise. "Nobody insults you, Hermosa." Stealing a brief kiss Ysabel fully joins the fray. 

Volley after volley is fired. Each side taking hits and giving in turn. Tracy attempting to keep score from the safety of the dining room window. Sera's team throwing more assaults, but Crowley's making more connections. When the humans grew tired and given up the two supernatural beings pause.

"Do you accept defeat, brother?" Sera cries from her huddled position.

"To one of the Host? Not on your bloody flaming wings Seraph. Surrender and I may yet give you your presents!" Crowley declares with an overly dramatic cadence.

"Crowley you aren't ransoming her surrender with her gifts. It's Christmas." Aziraphale pouts, himself wishing the silly contest were over so he might warm his corporation by the fire.

"M'not. Just want the little shit to accept her defeat." Crowley sneers in his sister's direction.

Pursing his lips at his husband's childish stubbornness he stands. "We surrender. Congr….omph." Aziraphale is struck, losing his footing he slips and falls. Strong arms catching him as he lands softly into the mass of miracles snowballs.

"You alright, dove?" Crowley asks, cradling his angel.

Frowning Aziraphale glares his displeasure, "that was most uncalled for." Snapping his fingers a massive avalanche of snow plops directly on the opposing force. Their chilled cries muffled under the heap of loose powder. 'That'll teach you."

Seeing his angel's humourous act of revenge, Crowley quacks a laugh. "God, I love you, you little bastard." 

"It's unsporting to attack someone who surrenders." Aziraphale pouts fiddling with his husband's scarf.

Crowley chuckles at the adorable pretence of innocents. About to kiss his blessed angel, he feels Aziraphale's subtly shiver in his arms. "C'mon. Let's get you inside." Assisting his angel up, he decides to let Sera help the humans out of their wintery plight. 

Inside he lights a fire. Stripping his angel of snow-covered coat, he wraps Aziraphale in the blanket they spent many an afternoon snuggled close watching The Golden Girls. Hurrying off to the kitchen to prepare a hot cup of cocoa.

Tracy glides into the lounge giving Aziraphale a brilliant idea. He needed to get out of the wet clothing at any rate. And he had just the thing to wear. "Tracy, might I have a word with you? In private?" Aziraphale asks sheepishly. 

Looking over the bashful angel, Tracy smiles maternally, "Absolutely, love."

Aziraphale leads them upstairs to the master bedroom. Miracling the door locked to any would-be intruders.

After some time, and the cocoa is prepared Crowley returns to find their lounge full of shivering humans, and one Seraph wrapped in Aziraphale's blanket with her human fixation. His angel is nowhere to be seen. When searching downstairs produces no results, he turns to the flock of humans. "Has any of you seen Aziraphale?"

"I saw Tracy talking with them before they went upstairs," Sera informs, lips a bit blue.

He calls from the foot of their stairs, "Angel!" 

Hearing the millennia-old endearment Aziraphale hastily intones, "Be right out, my love." Standing before their mirror, he smooths down his garment. Hands nervously following the swell of hips down to his thighs. "Are the shoes too much?" He asks of Tracy's reflection.

Giving the angel an incredulous roll of her eyes, "You are wearing millions of dollars in diamonds, and you are asking if your heels are too much?" Tucking a stubborn curl back into place she turns Aziraphale for the door. "Go knock him dead."

"Your guests...er... want to open presents…" he calls out again, hoping to appeal to his angel's polite sensibilities. A red stiletto grabs his attention as it takes the first step. Eyes follow up creamy calf to a shocking red dress that clung to his angel's form. A peak of shoulder on one side was a surprising amount of skin for his prim angel to reveal outside of the privacy of their bedroom. 'Holy shit.' Falls from his gaping mouth. 'Red. You are bloody wearing red.'

Aziraphale descends the stairs gracefully. Expertly hiding the fact that he was a bundle of nerves. Hair fashioned into a perfect chauffeur, adorned in the Harry Winston set, and subtle makeup with blazon red lips. "You were saying, Dearest?"

"I am the luckiest fucking bastard God ever created," Crowley admits aloud still gaping at the sultry vision before him. 

Delighted by his husband's stupified expression Aziraphale gives him a little peck, "Language, dear." Wrapping his arms around Crowley's neck, he beams, "Perhaps I should wear red more often."

'You are a perfect temptation.' Returning Aziraphale's embrace, "It's true no matter what you wear." He purrs low in the deep timber that his angel appreciates. 

"You said something about presents?" Aziraphale asks, sliding his hands to Crowley's chest.

"Yeah...Oi! You lot, we are doing the present thing." He announces sharply.

Everyone arranges themselves around the tree. Waiting expectantly for the first gift to be presented. Crowley picks up a rather small box studying the gold wrapping paper before offering it to Sera. "This one is from Aziraphale and me."

Smiling eagerly, she claims the box and tears into the paper. Inside age finds a keyring with one gold key and a little device. A silver B surrounded by wings on one side. "A key?" She asks, turning it over in her hand.

"To our cottage," Aziraphale informs warmly.

"You are welcome here anytime. And the other… c'mon." He shows her outside. Walking in silence to the shed, too grand to be referred to as such. Polished to a brilliant shine sits a St James red Bentley Continental convertible. Crowley takes the keyring from Sera, pressing a button. The beautiful automobile comes to life. Engine softly humming beneath the bonnet.

"A car?" Sera asks in disbelief.

"Your own Bentley." Crowley smugly smiles, tossing his sister the keys. "Take care of it. And she'll take care of you."

Hurrying over she opens the driver's side door. Sliding in behind the red and black steering wheel age caresses the matching leather. It was magnificent. Art in mechanical form. Every detail meticulously crafted, undoubtedly to Crowley's decerning specifications. "Will you show me how to drive?" Sera finally asks.

Huffing a laugh he leans against the bonnet, arms folded over his chest. 'Thought you'd like it.' "Take it easy. We still have presents to open." 

Relinquishing her seat, she rushes to her brother. Arms thrown around him in a vice-like hug. "Thank you." Seeing Aziraphale behind him, she reaches out, taking their hand. "Both of you." Without her friend's intervention, Sera knew this all wouldn't be possible. And for that, she would be eternally grateful.

They return inside, Sera hastily gives them her packages. Aziraphale receives several cookbooks. One on gourmet French pastries. Another The Ritz London cookbook Sera explains as a memento of their faithful meetings their. Lastly, an ancient, very worn book titled The Apicius. This Sera opens to a saved page near the middle. A recipe Aziraphale notes is in Latin. "Your first date. I found the oyster recipe."

Indeed there it was. Aziraphale's finger reverently glides over the page. Tears prickling in his eyes as he studies the most thoughtful gesture, someone, aside from Crowley, had ever done for him. Closing the book, he holds it to his chest. "It is very thoughtful of you Sera. I can not express how wonderful it is."

Beaming with satisfaction, she urges Crowley to open his. Inside an absurdly large box is a stuffed platypus, dinosaur tooth, and hundreds of packages of heirloom vegetable, herbs, and fruit seeds. Even several mushroom growing kits. With a note reading.

_ Plants and keeping Aziraphale happy.  _

Holding the taxidermied oddity up for inspection Crowley can't help but smile. 'Of course, you did. Arse.' "Thanks, Sera." His tone was flippant, but deep down, it was a perfect gift. Souvenirs he hadn't thought he needed to collect at the time. 

Tracy leans into Shadwell whispering, "odd girl." Shadwell nods his agreement. Wondering what occult forces would want with a platypus.

"This is from us," Anathema says shoving a package into Crowley's hand. And gently placing Aziraphale's in their lap. 

Crowley opens the present and revealing a onesie. Pointing to each arm and leg opening are directions indicating how to properly dress their expectant baby. Sneering at the insolent gift Crowley hisses, "I'll have you know I was a nanny for ssssix yearsss."

Ignoring the demon's blustering Anathema rest back against Newt. "There is more."

Crowley looks back down. Pushing tissue paper aside, he finds a keychain with a strange etching on one side. And AEC on the other. "What is it?" He asks frowning at the little medallion.

"There's an app." Anathema takes out her phone and scans the charm. Familiar whirring pulses fill the room. Crowley feels the instant pull at his heart recognising the sound. "It's their heartbeat. Aziraphale helped us." Anathema says sweetly. The normally animated demon had endearingly fallen still at the first pulse.

Crowley brushes a finger over the charm. 'I can hear them whenever I like.' Gratitude and love for their child nearly shreds all semblance of pride from him. Sniffling to stifle his welling emotions Crowley decided at once this would not be added to his car keys. His silver chain was a better place for such a precious gift. "Thanks, Bookgirl." voice annoying held a light quiver as he spoke. Everyone silently passes, Anathema a pound note. "Seriously?" He growls in exasperation, seeing he was yet again the prospect of the witch's bet.

Ignoring Crowley once more Anathema smiles at Aziraphale. "Your turn." 

In his parcel are two wine glasses that read "I waited nine months for this." A book titled Preggatinis: Mixology For The Mom-To-Be. Tickled by the humourous gift Aziraphale shows his husband. Placing them back into their box, he smiles, "These are very amusing. Thank you both."

Anathema takes lead once more tossing Newt a present wrapped in Dr Who wrapping paper. Computers for Dummies, a Dr Who scarf, and the Elder Wand await inside. They had agreed to nothing too extravagant as Newton still hadn't found steady employment. 

He gives the wand a flourish, "Thanks, Natty." Setting the Deathly Hallow aside Newt steadies his nerves the best could. It was his turn, though he didn't go to the tree. Instead, he nervously slips to one knee. Hand drawing a small velvet box from his pocket. Taking Anathema's hand, he awkwardly clears his throat, fearing that perhaps might be overshooting the mark. "Anathema Device." He was unable to meet brown eyes. 

"No!" She shouts, hands flying up to cover her mouth. 

"Oh. I just...we…" Newt makes to stand.

Anathema grabs him by the shoulders. "Not no, no… just…" fumbling to explain she sees him lower back down. 

Relief provides Newt with a modicum of courage. Opening the box, he reveals a simple solitaire ring. "Will you marry me?" He waits on the edge of hope. Hands imperceptibly trembling. 

"Yes!" Anathema shouts, diving on Newt. Unable to withstand his now fiancee's exuberant acceptance, they both land in a heap on the floor. Anathema peppering his face in frenzied kisses.

The room bursts into a joyous round of congratulations. Partially to remind the young couple that they weren't alone. 

“Might as well give em our gift." Throwing an arm over his angel's shoulders, Crowley flings an envelope at the entangled humans. "Honeymoon on us.”

Anathema climbs off Newton taking up the envelope. A note offering unlimited use of their jet, and a private island resort of the coast of Bali was drawn out. Newt unable to form an ineligible thought just stares at the page. Anathema grins, "Aww thanks, uncle Crowley." 

The rest of the gifts are exchanged. Aziraphale receives a Mac Book Pro from Ysabel with a large selection of classical music, including a calming playlist for labour, and belly pods for the baby to listen to music. Also, an assortment of handmade products for ease labour discomfort. Crowley and Aziraphale receive more than their fair share of wine. 

Newtons mother gives everyone a knitted item. Sera's gifts are all a bit questionable, though thoughtful in their own way. Madam Tracy offers Aziraphale a beautifully wrapped gift. Upon opening the lid, Aziraphale quickly shuts it. Looking to Tracy completely scandalized. She gives him a wink but says nothing. 

Crowley follows the look of horror to the harlot. “What is it?”

“I...I’ll show you later,” Aziraphale whispers placing the parcel side.

Finally, they are down to only three presents. Aziraphale places two of the parcels in front of his husband, the smallest on his lap. Whispering in Crowley's ear, “This is really for me, but I hope you like it.”

It is a kilt. Red, black and silver tartan in a pattern Crowley doesn't readily recognise. “What clan does this one belong to?”

“None. I had this one specially commissioned for you.”

'Deals a deal.' Crowley sets it aside, pulling the other more substantial gift in front of him. Inside was a rose bush, possible miraculously in bloom. Soft peach petals fill the room with the most pleasant floral scent.

“So, I have it on a reasonably trusted authority this is an exceptional specimen of the…”

“Juliet Rose. Aziraphale…” Crowley finishes, staring at the beautiful plant in wonder. 

“Do you like it?” Aziraphale asks, uncertain of his husband's wide-eyed reaction.

“F'course. Thanks, dove.” Crowley leans over and steals a kiss. 

“I have one more present.” Aziraphale rises with slight difficulty. Dashing to his library, returning with a simply wrapped brown paper parcel. "Here, my love." 'I do hope you like it.'

Crowley opens the gift and sees a beautiful leather-bound book with the Garden of Eden embossed on the cover. Complete with an apple tree full of apples. Inside are beautifully illuminated pages of their time on Earth. Each, their representative illustrations move closer together as the pages progress until at last, they meet in a loving embrace. The very first page has Aziraphale's beautiful swirling script reading.

_ To my wonderful husband, constant love and eternal companion. Thank you for every beautiful moment from our past. Our current extraordinary life together. And our future to come with our child. I love you for all that you are, have been, or will be. _

Crowley turns the page, and there, surrounded by a scene of the ark is their first ultrasound picture. Crowley having only just then remembered their disappearance feels their return to his core. What guilt he may have felt is lost to the overwhelming love he feels for his angel and the profoundly meaningful gift. 

Flipping through each perfectly curated page, he sees each sonogram with a brief description of that day. When the photos run out, he sees that all additional pages were prepared for ever milestone until their baby's first birthday. “Dove.” he breaths caressing their little one's most recent photo.

Laying a hand on his husband's, “I am sorry you thought the pictures had gone missing. It was only for the one evening.”

“Aziraphale it…” he can't contain his tears this time. His angel's gift is everything he could never imagine he wanted. It was them. Their history and future all held within a book. Something his angel treasured more than any other Earthly possession. Curling around his angel, he held Aziraphale close. Needing an anchor for his essence that threatened to float free from his corporation. "Thank you, dove." Is helplessly mumbled into his angel's shoulder.

"You are ever so welcome, dearest," Aziraphale says softly so only his husband might hear. 

Crowley composes himself sits back against their sofa. 'Maybe I can get used to this Christmas...thing.' From the corner of his eye, Crowley sees their guests once again handing Anathema money. “Oh, come on,” he shouts at the witch. Who only shrugs in response. 'You're lucky I like you Bookgirl.'

Crowley sets the book down on the coffee table. “Right so…” 'time to shine.' Fetching the final present, he gives Aziraphale a heavy parcel. 

Meticulously opening the gold wrapping paper so as to not tear it. Aziraphale gasps when he sees, "Shakespeare’s First Folio?” The old bard's likeness stares back at him from the second page. Thin blue and red ribbons are tucked throughout the tome. Far too many to just indicate each work.

“I know you don’t have it." Crowley begins without any put on airs. "So I got one for you." 'Please don't ask how.' "I put a bit of ribbon to mark where that shit plagiarized us.” 

“It’s perfect dearest, thank you.” Aziraphale rewards his husband with a kiss. 'Is this really what you were up to? Surely not. And I am fairly certain this has been under the tree for some time.'

“I too have one more gift,” Crowley informs before standing. Now that the moment was upon them, he could feel anxiety wedging itself firmly in his throat. 'Anathema said you would like it. Shit! She hardly knows you. Probably just told me that to make a fool of me. Get it together. Too late to turn back now.'

“Oh?” Aziraphale asks, both brows raised at the question.

“It’s upstairs.” Crowley gestures with his thumb. 'You can do this.' " C'mon." Assisting his angel up, they make their way up to just outside the nursery door. Crowley pauses, hand on the knob taking a deep breath. 'It will be fine. Aziraphale will like it. You can do this. Fuck. What if Aziraphale hates it. What if...get it together.' 

Seeing where they stand, Aziraphale's mind is filled with thousands of possibilities. The one he hopes for makes his corporation's heart flutter with excitment. Yet, his poor husband looks as if his earlier hangover may have returned. Familiar with anxiety, he takes his husband's hand. 'Whatever it is, my love, I am sure it will be wonderful.'

Feeling his angel's soft hand in his own gives him the assurance he needs. Turning the knob, he smiles, “Happy Christmas, dove.” 

The door is pushed open, and it steals Aziraphale's breath. Taking a step inside, he takes in the room in nearly a daze. Tears instantly burst from his eyes. Sucking in a few breathy sobs, he is pulled into his husband's arms. 

'Shit, you hate it. Last time I listen to a witch.' "You don't like it? We can change anything you like Aziraphale. I...I just...I…" his bumbling mouth is stopped by his angel, pulling him into a heated kiss. Warm, soft body pressing desperately against his own. Fingers nearly painfully fist in his hair. 'Wait...this is good then?' Feeling a little pulse of warm, loving desire corse through him is confirmation enough. 'Yup. Definitely good.'

Conscious they had an audience Aziraphale pulls away reluctantly. “Oh, Crowley…" his mind reeling with every compliment one could pay such a wonderful gift, he settles on the simple truth. "Crowley is beautiful."

Proudly smiling down on his happy angel, he steals one last kiss before releasing Aziraphale to explore. 'Anything to make you happy.'

The walls were a beautiful slate grey, the trim a brilliant white. Over an elegantly carved crib was Pooh pointing up at the moon. Piglet and Tigger resting with him upon a cloud. In the far righthand corner was an upholstered wing back rocking chair and ottoman. Draped over the back was a blanket in his tartan with a small bear and star take up the seat. Every piece of furniture was white. Carved in the ornate rococo style. Little rosettes decorating each piece. The bedding was impossibly soft, sheet pale blue with little golden stars. He studies the craftmanship of the crib as he gently brushes a hand over the throw they picked up on their little outing.

Over the crib was a mobile comprised of various sizes of gold stars. Aziraphale gave it a tap sending the stars into motion. The polished metal shining as it spun. There was a little bookshelf filled with children’s book, a basket of receiving cloths, and various little toys. Eyore sat on top looking pitifully cute. There was a large armoire and changing table. On either side of the latter were photos. One the two took after their first visit with Dr Frances. The second was of him in their bathroom. It was taken no more than a week ago by the look of it. He admired the elegant black and white image, remembering the moment fondly. A few plants, no doubt the ones that passed his husband's ridged approval. But the ceiling was a wonder to behold. Instead of a ceiling light, the room was illuminated by hundreds of little stars twinkling like the night sky. 

When at last, his angel turns back towards him. Eyes still glittering with tears Crowley steps closer, “That’s my secret, dove.”

“It’s…” He walks over to the painting of Pooh. “You did this all yourself?”

“Yeah well...Anathema and Newt helped. Sera too.” he admits with a shrug. In truth, without the use of his powers, he could have never done it alone. 

Anathema pipes up from the door, “Crowley had been sending stuff to our cottage for the past couple of months. We started bringing them over so he could get everything ready.”

Looking to their friends, Aziraphale smiles with sincere fondness, “Thank you all. We are fortunate to be able to call you all friends." Turning back to his husband, he recalls his behaviour. 'I treated you terribly. And all the while you were preparing this for us.' Needing a moment to apologise, he asks their guest, "Could you all give us a moment. We will rejoin you shortly.”

Tracy starts to usher the group away, “Alright. Shows over. Everyone back downstairs. Give them some privacy." Before they depart Anathema once again collects their bets.

'For the love of…' “No need to be a s hit,” Crowley shouts after their witch. Who waves her earnings in response, closing the door behind her.

Finally alone, Aziraphale's hands begin to wring as he looks to the floor. Shame making it impossible to meet his husband's eyes. “Crowley, it is perfect. I am so sorry for being difficult.”

'Would have thought there was something wrong if you hadn't.' Crowley pulls his angel into his arms. Delicate hands fist in his silk shirt. “You didn’t make it easy.” He kisses the starlight curls feeling quite pleased with himself.

"I am terribly sorry," Aziraphale says again looking up into golden eyes. Seeing the smear of red lipstick on his husband's mouth, he wipes it away with a sweep of his thumb. Remembering Tracy cleaning red from his husband's face the day before he turns toward the mural. “Did you do the paintings as well?” 

“Yeah. You don’t hang around painters for most of recorded history without picking up a few things. Spilt red paint all over myself that first night. Thought I heard you coming. Looked like I’d murdered someone.” Crowley admits with a chuckle.

“That’s why you showered.”

“Yeah.”

“And Sera?”

Shrugging, “She helped me get the stars up there. I had brought some from the flat. Couldn’t use a miracle to get them up though. So...”

'Lord, I'm such a fool.' “Why were you arguing?”

“I wanted to make sure she didn’t say anything. Sera really does have a big mouth,” he says, turning his angel so that they may take in his handy work.

'You did this all without magic. For us. You are such a wonderful husband.' “It’s so beautiful, my love. Thank you."

"I already told you. I'd do anything to see you smile." He purrs low in his angel's ear. 

They remain like this for a long moment. Aziraphale absorbing all the intricacies of the child's nursery. There was an expression of them both in every detail. It was somehow cosy and minimalistic. Everything had its place. Yet, it was comfortable for his tastes. The soft glow of stars would be lovely for their child to sleep under. His love of Whinnie and Crowley's stars blended seamlessly to create a whimsical space he hoped their Alexandria would love as much as he did. 

When at last the emerged Aziraphale saw how content his husband was. There was no facade. Just Crowley. Their hands laced together in as he guides them back downstairs. He loved seeing his husband like this. The terrors of both Heaven and Hell forgotten. Aziraphale held his hand just a bit tighter as they rejoin their guests.

Supper is served precisely at two. Everyone gathers around the dining room table. Roast goose and all the trimmings elegantly presented. Looking quite delectable to Aziraphale's estimations. At each place, setting rests a gold cracker. Everyone is instructed to grab one end of their cracker and the end of their neighbour's. Forming a circle around the table.

"Thank you all for coming. You have made this a wonderful holiday celebration. I hope you will join us for many more to come." Aziraphale announces looking at each of their guests as he speaks. "Now, on three. One. Two. Three." 

Everyone pulls hard. Everyone successfully ending up with a cracked to themselves. Little trinkets are removed. Cufflinks, tea strainers, expensive pens, small silver compact mirrors, and wine stoppers are all traded around until everyone is satisfied. Each person reads their customary jokes aloud. Then finally everyone dawns their crowns. Including Shadwell at his wife's insistence.

Supper is eaten, merry stories exchanged as the wine flows freely. Sera even explains the gift of a stuffed animal to the humans. All giving Crowley a shocked look to know one of their hosts played such a formative role in the creation of the universe. He pretends not to notice, tipping back his own glass of wine. Deciding this would be his last night of drinking until his angel could join him.

When at last, it was time for dessert Aziraphale excuses himself to the kitchen. He was just finishing pouring the glaze over the Christmas pudding when a lean body presses up against him with a low needful growl. "Hello, dearest." 

Warm wine scented lips claim his neck as a hand pulls down the other shoulder of his dress. Hair pushed out of the way to expose the juncture previously hidden beneath. Teeth lightly graze in a tantalizing question. 

"May I, dove?" Is breathed against his angel's flesh that prickles in anticipation. Barbs of yearning ache shoot through him. His left hand glides over the ample swell of Aziraphale's left breast. Kneading, nail scraping over concealed nipple.

"Crowley," Aziraphale whimpers at his husband's sudden attention. 

"Will you keep it for me?" He asks kissing the intended target.

'Good Lord. What has come over you? Our guests are just in the other room. I have to...to...Oh, but that does feel…" Aziraphale grips the counter harshly as his husband's hand slips beneath the top of his dress, finding his other breast within the restrictive bra. Worrying at the nipple in delicious precision. "Yes." He whispers, tilting his head to allow more access. 

Crowley's teeth bare down, earning him a gasping shiver. His angel fighting to remain quiet only made him want Aziraphale all the more. Between the sight of the red dress clinging obscenely to his angel's plump backside, the wine, and the heavy emotions of the day Crowley's need for his angel could no longer be kept at bay. Sucking hard to make sure his mark lasted for days he soothes any sting with a caress of tongue. "I told you I would tell you."

"T-tell me what, m-my love." Aziraphale struggles to speak as his husband's free hand snakes down his body to his aching effort. 

"If I came up with any." He growls finding where the pearl should be beneath the red fabric. 

"A-any w...wh...wh...oh darling that feels…" Aziraphale's hand covers his husband's. Feeling long elegant fingers deftly working his effort.

"Fetissshessss" He hisses, doubling his ministrations. Grinding his own arousal against luscious thigh. "You. In red. That is pure temptation, dove." 'My perfect beautiful angel.'

Pressing his husband's hand firmly against his effort in encouragement, he helplessly whispers, "Crowley...we can't." 'Please don't stop.'

"Please, dove." He purrs against the shell of his angel's ear. "I need to watch you come undone."

"Good L-Lord...our...our guests might..." Aziraphale gasps lost between reason and desire.

"Do you want me to stop?" Crowley stays his hand. Waiting for his angel's word.

'No!' "I just...what if they hear us?" Blue eyes peer back into gold.

"You…" a kiss to his angel's temple. "Will just…" a kiss to cheek. "Have to be very…" a quick caress of lips and the meeting of tongues sees all Aziraphale's resolve fade away. "Quiet." He whispers seductively in his angel's ear. 

Aziraphale nods his consent. Eyes dark with desire as his husband shift back minimally. With a snap, all of the desserts are sent to their guests. In hopes, it may provide a distraction.

Crowley's fingers glide down to the hem of the vexing dress and hikes it up over ample hips to expose a red frilly lace thong. A low rumbling groan vibrates within his chest at the sight. "I was right. Pure temptation." In a commanding tone, he knows Aziraphale is helpless by to comply he instructs, "Put your hands on the counter. Spread your legs just a bit." His angel eagerly does, "Just like that." He praises. Kissing exposed shoulder, he gives Aziraphale an appreciative hug. "Thank you, dove."

Taking his time, he slides a hand over smooth thigh up to slip under lace panties, between his angel's folds. His other hand harshly pulls down at matching bra, exposing both breasts. Fingers finding a rosy bud pinching it between his fingers. His angel's hands make to move when he scolds, "I said hands on the counter. Can you be good for me, dove?"

Aziraphale nods. The inability to touch his husband only makes his aching need all the more powerful. Head falling back as he bites his bottom lip to ground himself and remember to remain silent. 

His angel is trembling in his arms in no time at all. It was a point of pride for him that Aziraphale trusts him so completely to allow him this level of control. At any moment he would stop if only asked. But there was part of Aziraphale that enjoyed a little risk. Even if it were a measured one. Crowley drank in the shallow barely audible panting gasps as the flood of desire crashes into him. The furrowed expression and bitten lip only telling just how hard his angel struggles to keep those delicious moans contained. 

As Aziraphale neared release, he felt his quivering legs threaten to give. Only to find his husband's hand release his breast and wrap around him. Supporting them both as he clutches the counter in obedience. Then it hits him. His climax surging through him in a dizzying rush. One loud cry stifled to a strained huffing gasp. 

Crowley slows his hand, watching intently as blue eyes fly open, staring up at their ceiling. As Aziraphale heaves silent, desperate breaths. 'You are so beautiful.' He holds his angel until the pluses of ecstasy subside, and Aziraphale relaxes once more.

When he is sure his angel can stand, he adjust red lace undergarments and dress back into place. Satisfied that nothing appears to be out of place, he whispers into Aziraphale's ear, "Thank you, dove. That was exquisite."

Still, a bit at a lost on words Aziraphale licks his lips trying for his own thanks when their doorbell sounds. 

"Better not be those bloody carolers," Crowley grumbles to himself. "Take your time, dove. I'll make an excuse until you are ready to play host again." He reassures, giving his still blissful angel a quick peck. 

Annoyed he couldn't stay to enjoy basking in Aziraphale's afterglow he rips the door open with a threatening sneer. "Whot?" 'Satan's bollocks. What do you want?'

Leslie smiles politely at the angry greeting. “Happy Christmas Sir. I am looking for a...Sera...Sera-phi-el. Is she in?”

“Sera!” Crowley shouts towards the dining room. His sister pops her head around the corner to see what he wanted. Waving her over, he steps aside so the human might conclude his business and bugger off.

“Hi," Sera greets the man in uniform. 

“Even'n. Got a summons for you, Miss. Sign here.” Leslie says offering his clipboard. "You know this is the only place in England to see snow today." He takes back the signed documents "Thanks. Time to get back to Maud. You all have a lovely night.” Leslie departs whistling Joy to the World as he drives away.

“Whot’s it say?” Crowley asks as his sister studies the summons.

Sighing in defeat Sera folds the letter and places it back into the envelope. “I am needed in Heaven. The Council is bringing charges against Michael for their actions during the Apocolypse.”

"What happened with Uriel?" Crowley asks with a cocked brow. 'Too much to hope the arse is burn'n in a pit s'mwhere.'

"Demotion," Sera says with a shrug. "Basically a courier now. Guess Falling wasn't an enticing prospect for them."

Seeing his sister's shoulders slump, he asks, “When do you have to leave?”

“Tonight.” Sera frowns at the letter. "Heaven waits for no one, after all. I wish I could stay,” she says apologetically.

“Don’t worry about it," Crowley says, waving off her worry. "I’ll teach you to drive another day, yeah?" 'Just like old times.'

Sera smiles at the offer. Her brother had never been one to openly say what he meant. So she took this as a genuine request. "I'll call when I am free. The Council loves hearing themselves talk. I'm going to say good-bye to Ysabel.” she says, turning away to head back into the dining room. 

“Sera,” Crowley calls out. 

"Yes, brother?" She pauses at the door in surprise.

'It was nice having you here.' “We are serious about the invitation. Pop in whenever you want.”

“Thank you, brother.” she smiles before gliding from view.

When dessert is cleared, and the last of the wine drank everyone either retire to the guest cottage or departs for home. Aziraphale providing a blessing for safe travels. Ysabel offers to drive Sera to London in her new car. Which the Seraph excitedly accepts. After bidding his sister goodbye and tossing her an actual Best of Queen cd Crowley heads back inside. 

Their cottage is strangely silent after two days of commotion. Expecting to find his angel in their lounge he saunters in. Only to come up wanting. Something tells him perhaps to check upstairs. His second attempt proves fruitful. There in the nursery, his angel sits rocking slightly, chattering softly to their child.

“There you are,” he announces himself, sauntering over to perch on the little footstool.

Drawn from his telling of their first Christmas together, minus the moments not fit for children's ears, Aziraphale takes his husband's hand. “Sorry, dearest. Were you looking for me?”

“Just wondering where you got'n off to is all,” he says brushing his thumb over soft knuckles.

“We just admiring your work." Aziraphale smiles contentedly. "Is everyone gone?” 

“Yeah. Just us.”

“What a wonderful day.”

“Wasn’t so bad,” Crowley admits begrudgingly. 

“Thank you, dearest. I couldn’t have done this without you.” Aziraphale says with all sincerity. Drawing Crowley's hand up to kiss his palm.

“I don’t know about all that." Crowley huffs, caressing his angel's cheek. "So? Do it all again next year?”

“Yes. I think Alexandria will like that.” Aziraphale beams bringing Crowley's hands to his belly.

'It will be the best bloody Christmas there has ever been kiddo. Mummy and dad will see to it.' Crowley leans in sealing the silent promise with a kiss. A light tapping meets him upon contact. Startled, he pulls back. 'Did I just?' Blinking up at his angel, he breathes in reverence, "Aziraphale?" 

"Did you feel them?" Aziraphale asks having felt the little kick himself.

"Yes." Crowley laughs happily staring at his angel's bump. "I...I felt you." He places his palm directly over the previous spot. Another flutter tickling in response. 'I feel you.' For the third time today, Crowley fights back against his traitorous eyes. Knowing their witch probably had a bet on this moment as well.

Instead of giving in to his emotions, he goes to the bookshelf and fetches a book. Sitting wedged between his angel's thighs, he opens the book. "Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin."

Aziraphale rests back, watching with limitless affection. It was just a book, and just his husband reading to their child still in his belly. But this little moment in this room Aziraphale had never felt so content in his long years. It was peaceful, tender, and perfect. They are a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy the art. Still working on redoing/doing ones for the other chapters.


	35. New Years Eve

Tuesday 31 December 2019  
5:00 pm  
Jasmine Cottage

It was the eve of a new year and possibly rang in the air. After 6,000 years of dancing at the edge of love, there was nothing standing between them. In twenty short weeks, their long lives would be forever changed. A change they were all too eager to cradle in their arms. But tonight they were to celebrate. Together they would leave all the terrible moments of the past behind. To usher in the dawning of a new bright future with friends, food, and spectacle. 

Sera had agreed to meet them in London for the occasion. The Ritz, of course. Which, on this particular evening, would transport their guests back in time one hundred years to the roaring 20s. Dancing, champagne, and jazz composing the most opulent revelry that Fitzgerald's Gatsby would surely envy. Formal black tie was required. So, true to Crowley's nature, he would be damned, twice over, if they weren't dramatically in vogue. Due to his prolonged siesta, Crowley had missed this moment of history. However, he had Aziraphale to helped keep their attire relatively historically accurate. Be it a bit better quality than the bygone age could have managed at the time.

After solidifying their plans, Crowley had commented Sera was more interested in seeing her human than either of them. Aziraphale assured him he was probably at least on equal standings of importance. The days after Christmas Ysabel had frequent conversations with the Seraph. That was up until yesterday. Michael's trial was proving to be more challenging to come to majority consensus than Sera anticipated. Some had argued that Michael's crime of working in cooperation with Hell was not so far removed from Aziraphale "bedding a demon." As one obnoxious Cherubim has stated. 

Sera had gone silent. Aziraphale hypothesised that perhaps they were confined to The Chamber until everyone could pass a verdict. Ysabel had silently accepted this explanation, having not voiced concern on the matter in the first place. Ever the elegant lady she kept her own conference. She wouldn't begrudge an angel of changing their mind on a romance with a finite expiration date. Yet, if she were to be asked, she might concede she was hoping to see Sera that evening.

Anathema and Newt had also asked to join them. The former wanted to experience a London New Year. If this were to be her home, she wanted to know everything there was to know about it. Its people, the customs, and all the little intricacies foreign to her. This is what brought the Bentley to Jasmine Cottage. Waiting for far longer than its driver had agreed upon. 

Crowley paced the length of the trusty car in irritation. Checking his watch grumbling a flurry of expletives under his breath. Light twinkling off of the black sequins of his coattail jacket in the late afternoon sun. 'We may not have reservations, but it is God damned rude. Bloody humans. This is the last time I agree to play chauffeur.' Pulling at the elastic that bound his hair, he runs his fingers harshly through fire strands that seem to ignite in the golden rays. 

His pacing ceases briefly as he catches a glimpse of his angel, smiling warmly down on their child. Cooing that they should not be alarmed when they hear the fireworks. Blue eyes lift to meet his own. Smile widening in dazzling joy. 'So holy and so perfect is my love, and I in such a poverty of grace, that I shall think it a most plenteous crop. To glean the broken ears after the man. That the main harvest reaps; loose now and then a scattered smile, and that I'll live upon. If thou entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling. Thy smiles become thee well. Therefore in my presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prythee.' 

Their gaze is broken when Aziraphale looks back to their child. The world returns to him in a rush of heated agitation. "Are you bloody coming?” he finally howls at the cottage.

Anathema is the first to appear. Marching out, pulling on her last black satin glove. Newt stumbles out a few moments later locking the door. Suit coat and tie draped haphazardly over his arm. “Newt takes more time to get ready than I do.” snips Anathema. Unconcerned with the demon's threatening posture. Making sure her faux bob was secure, she takes note of Crowley's ostentatious getup. “That’s a flashy jacket.” 

Crowley looks down at himself. Seeing nothing amiss, he sneers “Got a problem with it?”

“None,” Anathema says flippantly. Sliding into the old car without another sound.

Newton is stopped. Crowley glowers menacingly down at him. "What time did I say be ready?" He snarls harshly at the timid boy.

Large blue eyes fill with panic. "F-four th-thirty." Newt stutters under the demon's heavy glare. Swallowing hard against the knot that is wedged firmly in his throat. Not for the first time wondering how it was he had managed to befriend a demon.

"And what time issss it now?" Crowley hisses, invading the fearful human's space. 

"F-five," Newt says glancing at the angel for aid. 

Feeling pity for the nervous young man Aziraphale interjects, "Dearest?" 'Must you torment the boy?'

Knowing his game was at an end, Crowley turns to his angel, "Be right with you, dove." Aziraphale pouts, compelling him to forgo and further admonishment. 'Sometimes, you are no fun.' His focus returns to Newton, growling low in a fearsome whisper, "I am not a patient demon. And you have made me wait thirty minutes."

"S-sorry unc…" Alarm rushes over Newton's face at the near slip of Anathema's mocking title. Correcting himself in haste, he straightens, "Mr Crowley." The demon cocks a brow but made no move to eviscerate him. "Wo-won't happen again."

"Sssee that it doesssn't, " he hisses stepping aside so the clearly disturbed boy could clamber in. 

Once everyone is situated and he had given Crowley a scolding glare for his unnecessary antics, Aziraphale turns to their passengers, "Is everyone ready?"

"Were's Sera?" Anathema asks before they could pull away from the cottage.

"Said she'd meet us at the Ritz," Crowley informs. 'Last I heard anyway.' Queen's Tear It Up bursts from the speakers as they race down the old dirt road. 

7:00pm  
London

Crowley pulls to a stop, parking illegally at the entrance to the Ritz. Paying no mind to the young valet who tries to get his attention. Sauntering around to the passenger door, he assists Aziraphale from the car in a grand dramatic bow. "My angel."

"Thank you, darling husband." Aziraphale coyly smiles, stepping out onto the damp pavement. The fringe beading of his champagne dress tinkles as he moves. 

Ysabel and Anathema follow, both sporting their own black vintage dresses appropriate for the evening's festivities. Newton nearly tumbles out, catching himself on the door before he could slash face-first into a puddle. He, like Crowley, was bedecked in a sharp three-piece suit. Looking surprising dapper. After appropriate adjustments, the party turns towards the hotel. 

“Mr Crowley!” came a familiar young voice. From the sea of people laughing and heading to their evening's destinations come Adam and his parents. "Hey Aziraphale, Anathema, Newt." Adam greets, seeing the other Apocalypse crew. 

“Hey, kid.” Crowley waves in recognition. The boy drags his parents over towards them in youthful enthusiasm.

Eyeing the tall redhead suspiciously Deidre places a protective hand on her son's shoulders. “Adam, you know this man?” 

Though he had longer hair, and a grabbed in a glittering fashion Mr Young think men ought to leave to women he knew the man. In fact, he was remarkably unchanged since their last meeting. “Doctor?”

“Doctor?” Asks Aziraphale giving his husband a curious look. 

"Uhhh...yeah...um…" Crowley fumbles for something in the way of a greeting or possibly an explanation. Coming up short on either he rocks back on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets. Looking very much like a child with his hand caught in the biscuit tin.

“Yes. You're the doctor that delivered our son.” Mr Young reminds the confused physician.

“Delivered? The nuns delivered Adam.” Deidre says in puzzlement. 

'So you think.' “Merely supervised,” Crowley says dismissively. 

“Dr Crowley is Miss Anathema’s friend.” Adam points out the witch who gives a little wiggle of her fingers. 

“Small world.” Mr Young says with a nod to the young lady who had taken up residence in the old cottage. An American but pleasant enough.

“Miniscule.” Crowley sneers at the boy's father. 'At least the kid knows how to lie.'

“Is this your wife?” Deidre asks, extending her hand to greet the pregnant blonde at the doctor's side. 

“Aziraphale.” Crowley introduces quickly. Hoping to move the conversation past his actions of that fateful night. His angel, ever the polite one shakes the woman's hand. Smiling sweetly at the humans.

“Seems you are having one of your own, then." Mr Young points out, ignoring the possible minefield he brazenly walks into by asking a woman if she was pregnant. "Good for you.” 

"So it would seem," Aziraphale says with a quick glance at his belly. 'Sometimes, it seems so strange.' Taking Crowley's arm, he can't help but enjoy how open and free their life was now. "We are very excited. Aren't we, my love?" 

Crowley kisses his angel's temple in response. 'More than you could ever know.'

“Congratulations.” Mrs Young says to the pair. The way the doctor's wife appeared so smitten with her husband made her reconsider her earlier suspicions. There was love there unabashed and genuine for any to see. Arthur was a good husband and father, but far from a romantic. It was by some miracle he had even suggested a night in London for New Years. Part of her envied the doctor's wife for her husband's open affection.

Mr Young glimpses his watch. They have reservations and a schedule to keep. Fearing his wife might slip into idol chatter about babies and womanly nonsense he clears his throat. “Well, you all have a nice evening. Come, Deidre, we best be off.”

“Bye, Dr Crowley." Adam grins mischievously at his demonic friend. "Bye, Everyone.”

“Bye, kid.” Crowley waves the former Antichrist's family off. 'Little shit.' They stand there a moment. Crowley watching the family leave. Sure Adam's dad was a hopelessly dull muppet, but he raised a good kid in Adam. The boy clearly loved him. 'I hope...I hope I don't let Alexandria down. Maybe boring is what a kid needs?'

Though sunglasses shield Crowley's eye, Aziraphale could tell he was lost in his own thoughts. 'You are probably being very unkind to yourself.' "Dearest, are you alright?"

'God, please don't let me fail them.' His angel's voice pulls him back into the world. It was chilly, and Aziraphale was not properly dressed for standing about in the winter air. "Yeah, fine." 'I will be good. For them. Alexandria deserves a good father.'

Crowley ushers the party inside. The Palm Court was already bursting with humans. All sipping cocktails and nibbling on the proffered food. A quintet of ladies sang acapella bouncy little jazz numbers Crowley had never heard. Aziraphale happily giggling to the tune as they waited for their first course.

As they finish the third course of partridge with beetroot and mushroom puree the sixth chair at their table still sat empty. Crowley frequently checking his phone for any messages. Growing antsy as each minute ticked closer to midnight. 'Where the Hell are you tag along?'

The rest of their group had also taken note. Anathema secretly watching her mother for any slip in the careful facade she wore so effortlessly. Newt glancing at each new arrival. Aziraphale was the first to comment.

Leaning in, he whispers, "Darling, where is Sera? We are nearly on the dessert course." 

“No idea. She isn’t answering her phone.” he shrugs checking once more. Just to be certain. 

"I do hope everything is alright." Aziraphale sighs glancing toward the entrance. 

"M'sure it's fine, angel," Crowley mutters, sounding unconvincing even to himself. "Not really known for her punctuality, that one." 

Ysabel says nothing. It was a lovely evening out with her daughter and their friends. The wine was excellent and the food more so. Jazz wasn't really her thing, but it was a suitable backdrop for the evening. All in all, she had no complaints. And she was determined to enjoy every moment.

Dessert arrives, chocolate delice with orange. It is decedent at a word. By the time they are done, Aziraphale having eaten Crowley's as well, to both their delights, recounted life a hundred years ago. The grandeur of what an actual party during the 20s was like. Mentioning all the authors of the time he had crossed paths with. 

Crowley was in the middle of berating himself for being such a nob. As to have slept for as long as he had, when a familiar song began to play. It was featured in a movie he caught after the nazi business. Humans and their brilliant invention of motion pictures had been a welcome distraction from his duties, and missing his angel. He didn't like the movie, per se. The ending was dramatic but felt wrong somehow. Possibly because there was no real happy ending. But the music was good. Especially this particular song. Of which always made him think of his angel. 

'Might as well.' Crowley stood abruptly taking Aziraphale's hand. With a bow, he peers at his angel over the rim of his glasses. "Can I tempt you to a dance?" He asks kissing soft knuckles, unblinking as he waits for a response. 

Blushing wildly at the formal gesture Aziraphale nearly swoons. 'You can be ever so dashing.' Rising up with a wistful smile "But of course."

Crowley guides his angel down the three steps onto the carpeted lower level. Out of the way of any pesky waiters. Pulling Aziraphale into his arms, Crowley begins to sway to the light-hearted tune. Fingertip gently touch the temples of his glasses. A question. His angel wanted to see his eyes. To dance as they had since that night under the stars. Just them. 'How can you love something I hate?' If it were in his power, he would do away with the infernal curse. Yet his angel had found them desirable. "Go ahead, dove." 'Humans can think what they like.'

Aziraphale removes his husband's glasses, tucking them into his breast pocket. 'I know you have your reasons. I just wish you wouldn't feel the need for these anymore.' Shield gone, an eternity of love shown down on him. Causing Aziraphale's heart to quicken. Entranced, he lost himself as his husband kept pace with the song. 'Almighty. Thank you for Crowley. I can not pretend to know your plans. But I am grateful for this.'

The moment his glasses were removed, his angel's expression changed from tender affection to one of intense yearning. Mouth parting as blue eyes darkens with desire. Crowley leans in. About to kiss expectant lips when they are interrupted.

“Hello, Aziraphale.” greets Sera, appearing suddenly at their side. 

“Sera!" Aziraphale shrieks in surprise. Hand rising to his chest to keep his heart from bursting free. After the initial shock of her manifestation subsides, he shakily continues, "There you are. We were beginning to worry.”

Resting her hand on Aziraphale's shoulder, Sera smiles, “God Herself couldn’t make me miss this.” Standing primly, she faces Crowley. " Hello, Crowley. Good to see you again."

'Whot? Been gone a few days and you aren't knocking me down with a stupid hug?' With a cocked brow, Crowley gives her a once over. Sera wore the same ridiculous suit she had her first time on Earth. The fact that she ignored the theme's esthetic was one thing. But to wear that dower get up was odd, to say the least. 'They've gone and indoctrinated you to be a good little Seraph again?' “Sera, you a'right?” he asks with a frown.

“Perfectly fine," Sera reassures, clasping her hands in front of her. "Why shouldn’t I be?” 

'Because you are acting like all the other stuck up prats up there.' Leaving the thought unspoken, he shoots a thumb over his shoulder "Your witch is here."

Sera glances over at the humans who watched from a nearby table. Giving them a wiggle of her fingers. "So, she is."

Seeing the Seraph make no move to greet their friends, Aziraphale interjects, "I am sure Ysabel is eager to see you." 

"I should go say hello," Sera says, leaving them on their impromptu dance floor. Gliding gracefully to their table she sits in the seat left vacant for her. "Good evening, everyone." She says sweetly. The youngest two offering their greetings, but glance at the third. Ysabel, who appears a bit agitated. "Hello, Ysabel. I am sorry for not responding to your messages. I was a bit tied up with Michael's trial."

"It is alright, Hermosa." Ysabel accepts the apology. Offering her hand to her lover, she visibly relaxes as their fingers lace together. 

Seeing everything settle back into place, Aziraphale and Crowley rejoin their friends. Crowley sits first, guiding his angel into his lap. Hand pressing gently against the swell of Aziraphale's belly. Their child fluttering against his palm. "Hey, there, kiddo. You enjoy'n the party too?" Leaning forward awkwardly, he presses a lingering kiss where his hand had been. Fiery curls brushed from his face by delicate fingers. A little happy ripple ghosts over his lips. "That'll be a yes, then. If you're anything like your mummy, you enjoy dancing. After midnight daddy is going to dance with you and mummy as long as the band keeps playing. Whot do you say?" A sharp little tap seemingly answers him. Crowley smooths his hand over his angel's belly, giving their child one last kiss. "Mummy and daddy love you so much, Alexandria."

Watching his husband fawn over there little one stirred many emotions within him. Love obviously. Desire often enough he wasn't sure if he was overtaxing his beloved. Pride in its purest form. And peace like he had never known. It often left him floating on a cloud, thankful he had such a wonderful anchor to cleave to. 

Their child seemed to be the most animated when their father was near as well. Moving about at the sound of his voice. It was a bond he knew began the moment Crowley found out they were to be parents. His husband's love was absolute when given. Aziraphale suspected their child would be the same. 

When golden eyes raised to his, he had to blink away happy tears. His husband's concern was evident. "Don't mind me, dearest. Hormones and what have you." 'You make me so happy I can't help myself.'

Crowley felt the same urge he had known for 6,000 years call to him. 'Whatever it is, I will fix it." "Talk to me, dove." Aziraphale was encouraged closer. Hand gently caressing the small of his angel's back as arms encircled his neck. He knew they were being watched, but the lot of them could march straight to his former head office if they had anything to say. 

Aziraphale nuzzles into crimson waves "I don't mean to cry. I just…" 

His angel's loving warmth radiates within him. There was no fear or sadness to be felt. Just Aziraphale's shining job. Sensing there was nothing troubling Aziraphale, he held his family. Soft sobs tickle against his ear, "Ts'alright. I've got you." 'For as long as you need.'

Glancing around, he made sure only their humans were paying attention. Unwilling to disturb his angel, he snaps. His flashy coat appears draped over Aziraphale. The dress his angel wore was thin and did little in the way of keeping them warm. Eyeing Anathema, he dares the witch to have bet on this moment. 

Deciding the intimate moment between the pair wasn't for their scrutiny Ysabel leans toward to Sera. “Your very first New Years. There will be fireworks at midnight. Have you ever seen fireworks before?”

"No. Can't say I have," Sera says in a breathy tone. "I heard the display will be at the London Eye. Might we head to the river to watch?" She glances around the table. Anathema shrugs, Newt nervously looks between the Seraph and the demon. Ysabel in agreement looks to Crowley.

"There is a view from the terrace." He says in annoyance. 'Don't think Aziraphale is up to a herd of humans.' 

Hearing his friend's request Aziraphale pulls himself together. Arms still clinging tightly to Crowley. "If you like. It is like to be quite the experience." Gazing down on his husband, "is that alright, my love? We can come back for dancing after. " 'I would hate to spoil any of your plans.'

"You sure?" Crowley asks, pushing a ringlet behind his angel's ear.

"I leave the decision to you, darling." Aziraphale smiles, tilting his husband's chin up to seal their lips. 

"Fine." He grumbles. "You owe me Sera."

They leave the Ritz heading for the Thames. Each couple hand in hand as they walk through crowds of people laughing and revelling as midnight draws near. When they reach the Victoria Embankment Crowley sees their way unobstructed to the best viewing location. Humans parting like the Red Sea before Moses.

Aziraphale snuggles against him, his jacket still wrapped around his angel's shoulders. Their friends on either side as they wait for the show to begin. Movement to his left catches his eye. Adam bobs up and down in the crowd, waving to get his attention. Crowley waves back in acknowledgement of the boy's presents. Pointing him out to their group. 

The loud music that issues over the whole of the area suddenly changes to an electronic ticking of a clock. The massive gathering of humans all begin to count down. Millions of voices call out in unison “5. 4. 3. 2.1.” Big Ben's bells ring out in a low, ominous announcement of another year gone. As fireworks thunder out in a military drummer's call to battle. 

In his husband's arms, Aziraphale gazes up, "Happy New Year, my love." 'I am so thankful to be with you, here, as we are.'

"Happy New Year, dove." Crowley answers. 'I finally get to do this.' Dipping his angel, much to Aziraphale's surprise their mouth unite. Since the tradition to kiss the one you love at the stroke of midnight became a thing Crowley had fantasised about this very moment. His angel supported in his arms, lips parting so they might taste of each other. The soft hand that currently presses to his cheek was a nice touch he hadn't thought of. 

Pulling back just a little he sees his angel's eyes still closed, cheeks flushed prettily, mouth still pursed as if waiting. "And to many more to come." He promises before kissing Aziraphale once more. London was bombarded by loud techno and a veritable chorus of explosions behind them. 

Gently he brings his angel back to standing. Adjusting his glittering jacket just so. The coy smile he receives its own promise of things to come once they were home. 'Little minx. You are so irresistible. I will see you thoroughly satisfied.'

The ground beneath them shifts violently. Pain and a dark command pull Crowley to his knees. 'No.' Aziraphale looks at him in terror as the sea of humans all cry out in alarm. 

"Crowley! It's…" Anathema yells over the chaos.

"Aziraphale you have to go," Crowley begs as another painful compelling pulls him closer to the pavement. The ground quakes again.

"No." 'No, this can't be happening. We are finally happy. I'm not giving you up. Not for anything.' Aziraphale cups his husband's cheeks, "I will not leave you."

The Earth rumbles, throwing everyone off balance. Crowley fights against his master's will. It is excruciating, tearing at his mind as he forces himself to rise to his feet to steady his angel. "I love you. And I know you want to protect me, but there is more at stake. Think of our child Aziraphale!" He shouts, gripping his angel's arms harshly. "You have to leave. You have to give them a chance." He pleads frantically for Aziraphale to see reason. 'You have to live. I need to know you are both safe.'

"That is what I am doing." 'If we run now, we will never be free.'

The Earth shudders again. A large fissure opens, splitting the ground in a large wound. The Thames begins to froth and seeth before them. Humans flee in every direction to escape. Trampling over those unlucky enough to have fallen. Anathema and Newt huddling close to avoid being swept away in the tsunami of fear and confusion.

"You all should get to safety." Aziraphale shouts over the pandemonium. "Sera, see that they are far from here." He commands. Before the Seraph could respond, the London Eye erupts in fire and rubble. Satan rips through the ground, steel snapping like matchsticks as his enormous size and massive wings reduce the wheel to splinters. Undetonated fireworks explode in the destruction. Sulfur and brimstone fill the air with a nauseating stench. Lucifer roaring like a great beast drowns out all other sounds. 

Magma flows into the Thames. Its waters boiling upon contact. Hell in all its horror surges from the fissure. Demons armed with cruel weapons race into the retreating terrified humans. Blade biting into flesh fires consuming everything in its path. 

Aziraphale knew in that moment his dreams were not mere happenstance. They had been a warning. A warning that Hell would come for vengeance. Crowley looked ashen at his side. Fear for him, their child, even himself, causes gold to bleed to the corners of his eyes. 'They will not have you.'

Stepping between his husband and the powers of Hell, Aziraphale finds his resolve to fight. 'You leave me no choice. ' "You will not harm these people." Aziraphale booms unleashing his wings in a grand holy display. Divine wrath shining in glowing blue eyes. 'By your will God.' A streak of lightning crackles through the night sky. Storm clouds gather obscuring the moon in darkness. Lightning flashes brilliantly white and full of purpose overhead. Aziraphale pulls the power of God down upon them. Careful to shield his husband as demon all around them are struck with precise bolts. All discorporating into flurries of ash. Swept away by the wind. 

They were not destroyed, but neither were they rampaging through London killing the innocent. Lucifer manages to deflect the ones meant for him. Which only seemed to make the monster all the more enraged.

Seeing the utter destruction of Hell's forces at his angel's will Crowley shouts "Remind me not to piss you off." With a snap, all humans still living are sent elsewhere to safety. Including their friends. Sera, the only one that remains, as he needed her to force his angel to safety. 

“Traitor!” billows Satan from across the river. “You tried to destroy me.” Beelzebub appears above them. Bloodied and fettered in golden chains, unconscious though still alive. The Lord of Flies falls at their feet. Not a muscle of their small corporation stirs. 

Crowley grabs his angel and pulls Aziraphale away. Desperation screams within him. His mind is a tempest of what Lucifer might do if his angel were captured. “AZIRAPHALE PLEASE! WE ARE NO MATCH FOR HIM. YOU HAVE TO GO NOW!"

“I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU!" Aziraphale shouts back. 'You will die. And I will be alone. Our child will never know their father.'

'I am sorry.' Crowley shoves Aziraphale hard into Sera. “TAKE AZIRAPHALE AND GET MY FAMILY TO HEAVEN." 'You will be safe there. God will protect you.'

The Seraph's hold is unyielding as he fights to break free. She beings to pull him away as more demons rise out of the ground. “UNHAND ME SERA! THEY ARE GOING TO DESTROY HIM!” He cries in anguish for his husband. "THIS CAN'T BE THE END! I NEED YOU! PLEASE CROWLEY! I LOVE YOU!" Tears blur his vision.

He watches as his world is torn from his side. Sera using all of her might to keep Aziraphale under control. "I LOVE YOU, DOVE! I ALWAYS HAVE! I am sorry, angel." 'I'm sorry, Alexandria.'

Something inside Aziraphale breaks. His nightmare was real before him. Greatest fears made manifest. He reaches for his husband still fighting against the Serph. "I can't lose you. I can't. I can't. GOD PLEASE. NOT HIM!' "CROWLEY, PLEASE!" His cries are feral and shrill. Throat straining as he pleads with his husband. Aziraphale feels all hope slip from him as he struggles fruitlessly. 

"Crowley…" growls satan with a sickening grin. "Is that the angel you betrayed me for? Perhaps I will take them as my own. Make them watch as I strip the flesh from your bones and bath you in the holy water you intended for me."

The thought burns inside of him. His angel and his child at the mercy of his monstrous kin. The torments he endured so long ago being wrought upon them as punishment for his actions. A dark predatory instinct flares within him. "YOU WILL NOT HAVE THEM!" he growls menacingly at his master. 

He feels it, as he had the day at the bookshop but didn't know what it was. His essence trying to remember what he had been before his Fall. The approaching wall of demons rushes towards him. His angel's desperate cries behind. Reaching out his essence, he seeps into the fabric of reality. Between the atoms of each Damned intent on his destruction. He feels it this time. Six fiery wings burst into this world. With a loud war cry, he rips their corporations asunder. All shrieking as they dissolve in painful agony. 

His focus goes to Satan, though his essence is forced back. He tries again only to feel Lucifer will him to submission. Crowley fights to resist the impossible weight. 

"You are mine, Crowley. Did you really think I would let you defeat me?" Lucifer cruelly sneers at him.

Falling to his knees, he knew. Though the other demon's had no power over him, he was a thrall to his former choirmate. He could not destroy the source of his powers. Crowley watches in horror as Lucifer draws in a deep breath and unleash a cone of hellfire. 'No. Not for me...Aziraphale!' Looking back, his angel and Sera were only just across the street. Panic steals his senses. He willed time still. His master's own will trying to stop him. The unseen battle batters his mind in daggers of raw pain. The infernal fire slowed instead of halted. 

“SERA! G-GET AZIRAPHALE THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" He cries, feeling his essence give beneath Lucifer's.

Sera grapples Aziraphale pulling the flailing angel off their feet, toppling over a concrete wall. They land in the soft grass on the other side, just as hellfire rushes overhead. She keeps Aziraphale pinned to the ground. The Archangel's Wings beating furiously to gain leverage.

"LET ME GO SERA! HE NEEDS ME!” he sobs inconsolably. The heat of the inferno paid no mind as he thrashes in the Seraph's crushing hold. "Pl-Please, S-Sera. I-I...I have to be with him. I...I can't lose him. He means everything to me."

Sera makes no comment besides tightening of her grip. The hellfire ceases. Only for a moment, she is distracted. One of Aziraphale's arms is wrestled free, fist coming up to land a dizzying blow across her temple. 

"I-I am sorry Sera." Aziraphale whimpers as he scrambles to his feet. Rising up, he sees Crowley standing in the centre of the charred walkway. "CROWLEY!" Aziraphale attempts to fly over the wall only to be tackled to the sidewalk by a recovered Sera.

"Damn, I missed." Chuckles Lucifer maliciously. "I won't this time." The beast opens his great maw, flames dancing at the back of his throat. 

Crowley knew without seeing his angel was trying to foolishly come to his aid. All pride, all pretence at ego, is forgotten. If he could not fight evil with evil, he would petition one last time. One final attempt for his creator to forgive him. It was all there was left. If he failed, his family would die there beside the river. Destroyed for all eternity. Looking Heavenward, he pleads, 'Mother, please. I can't defeat him alone. If not for me, then for my family. Do what you will with me. Just help me protect them.'

Crowley feels a tendril of holy power reaching down to him. Bright with God's holy glory. It wraps around his essence in the most excruciating pain he had ever felt. It burns through him. His core felt as though it were being ripped in two. All control Lucifer had seared away in an instant. The fires from within burn the flesh of his corporation, skin crackling black, blistering, and peeling away. Crowley wails in anguish as he uses every ounce of strength for one more attempt. Long-forgotten powers open to him. He faces down his ancient foe barely able to stand. 'Angel of destruction. So be it. For my angel, anything.'

Crowley reaches past time, past reality, into the dark void beyond. The world around him fades as the pain becomes too much to bear. Thousands of moments with Aziraphale fill his mind. Each perfect smile flashes before him. The Wall, Rome, the Ritz, the night they bonded. All a treasure he held close to his core. And one he had yet to see but imagined clearly as if he had. Aziraphale was holding their baby safe and blissfully happy. Looking up with a smile, just for him, meant only for him. 'I love you both.' 

He cries out as he rips time and space wide. Above Lucifer, a small black hole appears. Glass shatters from the windows of every building. The golden eagle from the monument to his left is ripped free drawn to the vortex. Lucifer in all his hubris, never saw it coming. Clawing at the ground, he fights the unstoppable pull. 

"CROWLEY! YOU TRAITOR!" He bellows helplessly as the event horizon claims him. 

Crowley fights to remain conscious as he burns from within. Lucifer disappears into the inky black void. Closing the all-consuming force of destruction, Crowley finally falls to his knees. Vision fading as his own end surely nears. "Thank you." He smiles, closing his eyes. A single tear falls down his soot-covered face clearing a path down to his throat. He had protected them. His angel and their child were safe. And if this was indeed his end, he would welcome it for no other reason. He smiles peacefully as he falls. 'I will always love you.'

His fight stops. Crowley lay lifeless on the ground, body burned nearly unrecognisable. "NO!" Aziraphale wails as his heart shatters. "LET GO OF ME, YOU BITCH!" He shouts hysterically. The Seraph relents. Aziraphale seizing his freedom turns away to go to his husband. To help in any way he could. A hand touches his shoulder. He was about to shrug free when a sharp pain pierces through his back.

“Gabriel was right,” Sera whispers flatly in Aziraphale's ear. “That abomination should be cast into the abyss.”

Looking down, he sees flaming steel covered in blood protruding from his stomach. Shock has him reach a trembling hand to the blade. It is harshly removed before he could make contact. Staggering forward, he sees blood flow freely, staining his dress red. 

"I will avenge my brothers," Sera says preparing for another strike. 

A bright orange glow bursts free from Aziraphale. The Seraph cries out before they are no more. Landing harshly on the ground Aziraphale cranes his neck, searching for his husbands in his dazed state. Vision swimming, fading out at he tries to pull himself towards Crowley's lifeless body. 'I am coming, my love. Hold on.' He hears his name being called but he can't figure if it is real, or in his mind. "I am coming.' 

Aziraphale's vision darkens to a tunnel. Arms trembling as he drags himself over the impossible distance. Fighting to remain awake as his strength ebbs from his corporation. The last he sees is his own ringed hand reaching out. The ruby and black scales glinting in the light before his own darkness claims him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued....


	36. A New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes up for the last chapter.

at Wednesday 1 January 2020

Aziraphale wakes at his writing desk, having fallen asleep at some point. Crowley's gift of Shakespeare's works still open to the last page he had read. Removing his wireframe glasses, he gives his corporation a good stretch. There was a slight twinge of pain in his belly. As he brought his hand down, fear grips him. Where he remembers a round belly heavy with their child was just the gentle curve of his usual form. 

Shooting up from his seat, he looks around the library. Nothing seemed out of place, but it felt wrong. His mind tries in vain to recall how he came to be in his library, why he was dressed in his prepregnancy attire, and where on Earth his husband was. 

Racing from the room of old books and fond memories he searches their cottage, finding nothing but emptiness. Panic sets in as room after room yields no results. In the garage, he finds the Bentley, which means his husband should be within. 

There was one last place. One he should have probably checked first. Aziraphale exits their back door and out into their sunroom. The greenhouse sat open, a happy little giggle rings put from the indoor garden. 

"Daddy, do you think mummy will like it?" Asks a sweet little voice. 

"Mummy likes everything you make for him." His husband answers in a soothing voice. 

Aziraphale sighs in relief. His worries were for not. Slowly he approaches the door. Cautious to not disturb the conversation of his two favourite beings. 

"Daddy?" Ask Alexandria. 

"Yeah, kiddo?"

Peering around the entrance, Aziraphale sees Crowley arranging flowers in a crystal vase. Each bloom perfect, no blemish or spot to be seen. Every pedal as they were expected to be. Next to him, their little one sat on the workbenches. Feet absently swinging bare little feet vigorously. "What does this one mean?" They ask, holding up a blush rose. 

"Well…" Crowley says, taking up the flower. "This rose mummy gave dad on our first Christmas together when you were still in mum's belly. But blush roses mean you appreciate someone. Mum takes excellent care of us, doesn't he?" he says, adding the beautiful specimen to the centre of the bouquet.

"Yep." They cheerfully agree. 

"Hey, dove." Crowley smiles warmly as he realises they are not alone.

"Mummy! Don't look. You'll ruin the surprise." Their child commands, pulling the vase behind the large ferns that obstruct their face.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Aziraphale smiles contently. 'Dream. This is a dream.' He comprehends suddenly. 'It was a beautiful dream.'

"Dove? You alright?" Crowley asks with a frown. 

"Aziraphale." A voice calls from their cottage. Glancing back he searches for the origin. It comes again "Aziraphale." The voice draws him away from his family to the open back door. It is familiar, and yet he can not place it. As he stands, peering into their home, the voice shouts "Aziraphale!" 

He wakes with a gasp, two relieved humans stare down on him. He blinks to clear his vision. Raven locks spill in loose spirals around her face. "Anathema? Where…" it all comes back to him in a sickening rush. Satan, Hell, his husband, Sera driving a sword through his back. 'Our child!' His hands frantically go to his stomach, desperately trying to find the wound. Blood still coated his dress red, the fabric torn in a large gash just below his bust. 

Trying to calm the panicked angel Anathema grabs his wrist, holding them still. "Aziraphale. You are alright."

"Our baby! Alexandria!" He sobs hysterically. Eyes pleading with their witch for their child's life. Though he knew their humans had no power over life and death, he could think of nothing else to do. Weeping his bottomless grief, he clings to the young woman. 'I should have listened. You told me to run. And now I have lost them as well. I am sorry, my love. I am so sorry.' 

Just as he was about to give in to despair, Aziraphale feels powerful flutters within him. His heart leaps in its cage as he holds his belly. Laughing with relief, he coos "I feel you. Oh, my little darling. You are still with me. By God's mercy. Your father will…"

Aziraphale scrambles to his feet, shoes slipping on the wet pavement. Anathema and Newt assist him up only to be shrugged free as he races towards where his husband lies, still unmoving, but no longer alone. Adam is there kneeling by his side. The young boy softly weeping as his hands hover just over Crowley's face.

Aziraphale reaches them, falling to his knees beside Adam. Who looks up at him tears rolling down his cheeks. "I-I healed his burns but…"

Aziraphale can see the subtle rise and fall of his husband's chest. It wasn't much, but it was stable and real. Seeing the sad, defeated state of the boy Aziraphale takes his hand, cradling it between his own. 'You saved me, didn't you? Saved our child. Healed my husband. Dear sweet Adam, I will never be able to repay your kindness.' "Thank you, Adam. I am sure Crowley is very proud of you."

Adam tearfully looks back to his demon friend. "Is...is he going to be alright?"

"I'm sure if it Adam. And it is all thanks to you. My husband and I will forever be in your debt." He says, trying to comfort the boy. 

Adam nods, shoulders slumping as he ends his mental attempt to revive Crowley. The former Antichrist appears worn and in much need of rest. Gently extracting his hand from the angel's he takes one last look at his friend before standing. Leaving Aziraphale alone with his husband.

Shifting closer Aziraphale ever so gently eases Crowley's torso off the hard ground and into his arms. Cradling him to his chest. His husband was alive, if just barely. Sending his essence out, he dips below the surface of Crowley's corporation. What he finds causes him to silently cry for his husband.

Where there had once been a dark, beautiful being was now a battered, nearly fractured essence. Crowley's core flickering like a dying flame instead of the brilliant star it had been. His essence was drawn in, tightly coiled around his core, seemingly diminished. Though upon recognising his presence, one single tendril reaches out. Ghosting over Aziraphale tentatively. Aziraphale felt it. A lingering pain that still smoulders within his husband. Hot and sharp and smelling of ozone and light.

"Oh my love, what have you done?" Aziraphale asks softly as if he might frighten his love away. 

Aziraphale buries his face into his husband's neck, holding him all the closer. Rocking them slowly, more to comfort his own aching heart. 'I don't know how, my love, but I will find a way to set you right.'

Their human friends approach, unsure of what to say. They had been found in such a state Anathema was sure they were both gone. And if it hadn't been for Adam's timely intervention, they may have been. Just as she was about to offer some words to lift the poor angel's spirits, three beings materialise to their right. 

Aziraphale senses their arrival and protectively shields his husband with his wings. Chamael, Temeluch and Sera stand side by side looking grim. The latter can't bring herself to look at him.

"Get away from us you monster. I will not allow anyone to harm my husband." He commands, divine rages crackling in the sky overhead. 

Chamael raises a hand, "Be at Peace Aziraphale. The danger is gone."

"She…" Aziraphale points an accusing finger at the Seraph. "tried to kill me! Tried to kill our baby! God's blessing! She is working with Gabriel. We were to have the Almighty's protection." Aziraphale sobs, angry at himself for not being able to keep his tears at bay. "We allowed you into our home. We trusted you!"

The Seraph begins to weep under the full weight of his scorn. Holding herself as she listens to every word, he hurls her direction. She says nothing in her defence.

"It wasn't Sera." Chamael finally says. 

"What?" Aziraphale asks in disbelief. 'I saw her. I will go directly to God if you dare deny us justice. As I report only to Her, She will hear me.'

"It was Michael, Aziraphale," Chamael informs in a soft tone. "They imprisoned Seraphiel. Conspired with Hell, as they were want to do. As well as angels still loyal to Gabriel. Your husband's plot with Beelzebub was uncovered. Their assassination attempt failed because Michael reported your movements to Gabriel. Who, as we have been told, used the information to curry favour with Lucifer."

Aziraphale looks to the Seraph. Though her expression looks no less guilty, he can see burn marks on Sera's corporation. They were an odd pattern, chains he realises. Deep cracking wounds seared into her the flesh. Infernal flames being the only thing that could do such a thing. And from the looks of it, Sera had fought against her bonds. 

"I'm sorry, Aziraphale." She whimpers. Oranges eyes still downcast and pitiful.

"Seraphiel blames herself for Michael's ability to deceive you. After The Council absolved them off any wrongdoing, they ambushed her. With aid from their coconspirators. As you can see, she did not participate willingly. Those responsible have been imprisoned. The Council is performing a formal investigation as we speak." Chamael finishes his explanation of events with a bow.

"What of my husband? Will God not restore him?" Aziraphale asks his fellow Archangel.

"We aren't entirely certain what happened to him. We were notified that Samael was pulling a significant amount of power from Heaven. Something one of his ilk should be incapable of. A demon coming in contact with God's might..well...we believe your bond is the only thing that kept him from utter destruction. He will live. As for God's intervention, one cannot say." Chamael says with a sigh. He was loyal no doubt, but following a path in the dark, blindfolded, with no apparent destination was tiring.

"And Michael?"

Chamael chuckles, looking up at the sky, "Seems your offspring didn't take kindly to the attempt on your life. The Archangel is no more. Saved us the trouble of another trial."

"I can hardly see what you find so amusing Chamael." Aziraphale snips at his peer. 'My family and I were nearly destroyed. London is in shambles. Humans are dead. And you find it appropriate to laugh?'

Temeluch raises a finger to gain his superior's attention. When Aziraphale glances at him he clears his throat, "The um...t-the Almighty has...has asked me to ch-check your baby. I-if you wi-will allow me?" He asks nervously, knowing what an angry Archangel was capable of. And he rather not be in Aziraphale's bad books, so to say.

Aziraphale nods his consent and allows the angel to approach. Though he kept an eye on the other two, Heaven by his estimation has proven itself less than worthy of his trust. 

The little angel lays a trembling hand on his belly. Eyes closed sensing what was not able to be seen with mortal eyes. The slight smile that plays at the corners of his mouth reassures Aziraphale. "Th-they are strong. Apparently, M-Michael missed them com-com… entirely. G-good thing they didn't b-bother to famil-learn human anatomy." Temeluch says before standing. "You baby is well."

Though Aziraphale had felt them, it was a comfort to hear Temeluch confirm their health. "Thank you, Temeluch."

"Temeluch will be stationed with you on Earth until after you deliver. Seraphiel has been charged with being your guardian. God's orders." Chamael says the last as to emphasis the matter was non-negotiable.

Looking to the latter Aziraphale is hesitant to concede. The Seraph did have all the appearance of one who was innocent, even if they didn't agree they were beyond reproach. She had yet to look at either of them. Guilt and shame seemingly eating at her. If this was acting, Sera should consider taking to the stage. She was worrying something in her hand. Thumb circling a small metal object. "What is in your hand?" Aziraphale asks.

"It's…" Sera opens, holding it out for Aziraphale to see. It was the key they had given her to their cottage. "I-I understand if you want it back." Her fingers tense to close, but she forces them back open. Eyes locked on the little object.

"Sera," Aziraphale speaks after a long moment of consideration. The Seraph flinches at the sound of her own name. "You may keep it."

Her hand instantly closes around her dearest treasure. Eyes wide, alight with hope as she finally stares at her dearest friend. "Aziraphale I am so sorry. I should have been here."

"There is nothing to forgive, Sera." He says with a warm smile. He can tell Sera is forcing herself still, yet wanting to embrace him. 'Not yet. It may not have been you. But…' "I will need some time Sera. To put the memory behind me. But our offer still stands. And if you are to be our guardian, you will need it."

Sera presses the key to her chest. Trembling as she tries to remain somewhat composed. Ysabel who had held back as to not be in anyone's way comes up to rest a hand on Sera's shoulders. The Seraph pulls her lover into her arms. Her relieved cries muffled into the witch's neck. 

"I wish to go home," Aziraphale says, brushing his thumb over his husband's pronounced cheekbones. 

"You may do as you like," Chamael informs, turning on his heels. With another graceful bow, he goes to leave.

There comes a coughing sound near the river. Curiosity peaked Chamael casually glides over. There, in a heap of chains and tattered clothes lays the Prince of Hell. "Beelzebub. Still among the living?" Asks Chamael, removing the Heavenly blessed restraints. 

"Shut it feather duzzzter." They say in disdain. Weakly scurrying to their feet. 'I don't need help from the likezzz of you, Chamael."

"Beel…" Sera stops herself. They had been choirmates but never had the friendship she and Crowley did. The Prince was always more aloof than any of the others. 

"Seraphiel?" Beelzebub recognises the Seraph, even in her ridiculous corporation. "Figures you'd be mixed up in all this. Bloody tag along." Hands on their hips, they glance around at the destruction. "What happ'n?"

"Seems you are the ranking demon in Hell. With Lucifer gone." Chamael says flippantly. 

"Gone?" Beelzebub questions with a scowl. They were not inclined to joking. Especially not at their own expense.

"Indeed. You'll be wanting to thank Samael. He single handily defeated your master. As best we can tell anyways." Chamael says drawing the chain into several loose loops around his hand.

Closing their eyes, Beelzebub focuses. Trying to feel the ancient power that held them all under his will. Finding nothing, they look to Crowley. "Impozzible." It wasn't the first time the Prince had real fear of their old sibling. Part of them knew, deep down, it would have come to this eventually. Crowley never was one of them. Never fully. 

"There is a lot of that going around these days. God in Her ineffability." Chamael smiles politely, "I should make you aware Samael has God's divine protection. Any attempt on him will be met with force. I do hope your kind may see the futility in any further acts of aggression. Peace might be the best course of action."

"We already had our own agreement. No need to worry your pretty little head Chamael." Beelzebub grumbles irritably. 

"Indeed."

"Crowley's angel!" The Prince calls out to Aziraphale. Who, has been watching the exchange. "Tell em our deal still standzzz." Without another word, Beelzebub dusts off their coat and blinks out of this sight.

Standing at the edge of the Thames Chamael raises a hand. The destruction of the city is healed. The fissure closed, The Eye restored, better than new. When the sun rose over London, none would be the wiser. The humans lost would wake in their beds, having thought they had passed out from drink or exhaustion. Everything would continue to Her plans. Peace would endure, even if only for a short time. His duty complete Chamael returns to Heaven.

An engine roars to life where it had not been before. Seeing the Bentley Aziraphale looks to Adam, who stands stoically at Newton's side. 

"He left it at the Ritz." The young boy says as if magically transporting a car across town was something one did casually.

"Let's get you home," Anathema says, stooping beside her friend. 

"Sera, will you help me carry him?" Aziraphale asks the Seraph. Knowing she would want to assist as much as possible. 

Sera slips from Ysabel's arms and hurries to take up her brother's legs. Temeluch follows, insisting he take Aziraphale's place. The two angels gently carry Crowley to his car. Aziraphale climbs in the back, assisting them in resting Crowley down, head resting in his lap. A tartan blanket is miracled to ensure his husband's comfort.

Newt and Anathema take up the front. Anathema behind the wheel, knowing Crowley would be furious if her fiance had driven his antique. Queen's Nobody But You plays softly as they leave London behind them.

They arrive at the cottage two hours later. Much slower than if Crowley had been in the driver's seat. Anathema drove especially careful as to avoid any road hazards in the dark. Aziraphale makes certain their way clear. 

As they pulled in the garage, a taxi's lights shine through the rear of the car. Sera and Ysabel exit quickly, leaving Temeluch to politely settle their fare with the quite perplexed driver. 

In no time at all, Crowley is safely upstairs, tucked in their nest. Aziraphale sees them both clean and in warm fresh pyjamas. The others had gone downstairs. Anathema assuring Aziraphale they would be checking in from time to time should he needed anything. 

Aziraphale lays beside his husband for hours. Watching for any sign of discomfort or waking. Hand resting over Crowley's, feeling his warmth, the strength in the tightly corded muscles, and pattern of wings on his ring. Still, as only one of his kind was capable of. The sun was high over their cottage when a soft knock comes at their door.

“Aziraphale?” calls Sera lightly from the other side.

“Come in.” Answers Aziraphale, scarcely above a whisper. 

The door opens, and the Seraph stands, carrying a silver tray. Tea, a full breakfast, and a few pastries are presented beautifully. “I brought food." She says sheepishly, waiting to be invited in.

"It's alright Sera." He assures her. Rising from their nest, he brings his husband's hand to his lips. Kissing his knuckles, before resting it back down at his side. 'I am right here, my love.'

Hurrying over Sera places the tray and its offerings on a nightstand. She was about to leave as quickly as she arrived, not wanting to press her luck and upset Aziraphale with her presence, when she pauses. Her brother looks as if he were only sleeping. Long hair plated in a need braid, his features peaceful, handsome as she remembers. If this were any other time, she might plan a surprise. Something to leave Crowley shouting his disapproval of a rude waking. Yet she knew, at least for the current moment, her brother was beyond such childishness. "How is he?" She asks timidly, keeping her feet respectfully rooted in place. Tears fill her eyes as she chastises herself for allowing such horrible things to befall her brother and his family.

Seeing the poor girl stand in their bedroom so overcome with guilt and sorrow, Aziraphale's heart goes out to her. "Sera…" 'you must be worried sick, and I have selfishly kept Crowley all to myself.'

The sound of her friend's voice saying the name her brother gave her with any measure of kindness does her in. Any restraint that still held the dam intact fails. Sera covers her face as she gasps whimpering sobs. "I -I'm s-so sorry, Aziraphale." Every instinct she has compelled her to grovel at the Archangel's feet and beg forgiveness, yet she dare not approach without permission. "I would n-Never do anything to hurt you or your family.”

Coming to the edge of their nest Aziraphale offers the trembling Seraph his hand. “Sera, sit with me. Please." Her answer is a look of shock, before practically falling into his arms. Wheeling pitifully on his shoulder, “Shhhhh. Sera." He says, returning her embrace, gently stroking her hair. "Come now. I am sorry for what I said. Michael’s deception was very convincing. I should not have kept you from Crowley.”

“I am sorry I...I couldn’t warn you. I…” she cries hysterically, clinging to the warmth of her dearest friend.

“Dear girl, you are not to blame,” Aziraphale says gently. 'You poor thing. Crowley would hate to see you in such a state.' “I am glad you are safe.” He allows her a long moment to unbeaten herself. Holding her, hand rubbing soothing circles into her back as she cries. Knowing well what it felt like to need someone to comfort you in a fragile state. 

When at last she has run out of tears, she sits up. Angry with herself as she had come to provide comfort, not burden her friend with her own troubles. Hiccuping, she asks, “H-has he-he woken u-up?”

“No, I dare say it will take some time.” He admits aloud. 'He will come back to us. He always does.'

“Ysabel sent this. She said it would help you sleep if you need it.” Sera offers him a little sachet of dried herds. "Just put it in your tea."

“Thank you.” Aziraphale smiles, setting the item aside.

“If you want, I can stay with him. I'll let you know if he wakes up. You can rest, or…” Sera offers trying to be of some help.

“I won’t leave him." Aziraphale refuses shortly. Looking down at the Seraph's limbs, he sees the black and cracking skin of their infernal burns. "Sera, might I see your arms."

Sera brings them forward. The wounds are not healing as they would if they were of ordinary flame. Aziraphale miracles an old first aid kit to his side. Opening the metal box, he draws out water, ointment and an absurd amount of gauze. 

"Will you allow me to tend your wounds? I have some experience with these types of burns." He asks, knowing the process will be painful.

"Experience?" Sera asks, though settles in more comfortably. 

"Well, only the once," Aziraphale admits. "I will try to be as gentle as possible, but it will hurt." 

Sera nods. Watching attentively as her friend sets to work washing clean the first of many wounds. Wincing as the cold water stings the raw flesh. "When were you burnt?"

"It was your brother, actually. Nearly went the whole night without saying anything. Walked through a church to rescue me." His polite smile fades at the memory. At all the moments when Crowley had to intervene on his behalf. 'I am such a burden to you.' "Your brother is always saving me." He sighs, his words filled with melancholy.

"He loves you." Sera reminds sweetly.

"Yes." 'And I don't deserve him.'

"Tell me about it. That night."

"Oh, it…" Sera gasps as he beings applying the ointment. Making sure she hasn't changed her mind continues. "Sorry, this part is the worse."

"Please tell me. It will distract me." Sera asks, trying to remain still.

"Alright. It was during the Second World War. As if one wasn't terrible enough." Aziraphale begins. He tells Sera of the Nazi's and his gallant husband sweeping in to save the day. "And after we retired to my bookshop. We talked for hours about nothing in particular. Just old friends catching up. A few bottles of wine later, and we were quite inebriated. Crowley…" he buffs a laugh at the fond memory. "Crowley just couldn't get comfortable. It took me a while to pry the cause out of him. Stubborn. He would say the same of me. Finally, he showed me. His feet were cracked and blistered. Rather a dreadful sight. He protested, but I won out. I saw to their care over the next week or so. It was nice, just having him around for more than a dinner or a few hours of polite conversation. Then he just...left." 'Yet another time, I should have told him how much I loved him. I was such a fool.' "Finished. Are there any more?"

"Under my clothes," Sera says, staring down at her bandaged arms. "But you don't need too…"

"Remove your shirt. Sit with your back to me. I won't look." Aziraphale instructs.

Sera complies arms crossed over her chest her friend attends to her back. "You don't have to do this. I am sure Ysabel wouldn't mind." She offers, not wanting to be a burden.

"I don't mind. It makes me feel...useful." 'There isn't much I can do for Crowley. At least this I can make better.'

Aziraphale tends to her diligently. Lost in his task of caring for another. Most of her body is swathed in thick gauze by the time he is finished. Sera, looking remarkably like a mummified human from ancient Egypt. Clearing away his implements, he sends the little kit back to its spot in their bathroom.

"Thank you." Sera smiles, drawing her blouse back on.

"You are most welcome. The bandages will need changing tomorrow. I'd be happy to assist."

"You should eat." She says, reminding Aziraphale of her original purpose.

"I will," Aziraphale assures Sera. 

“Is there anything else you need?” She asks, standing at the ready.

“No. Knowing we have such wonderful friends is more than enough.” Aziraphale smiles warmly up into orange eyes.

"Ysabel and I will be just down the hall. She and Temeluch are going over your birth plan." She says backing out of the room. 

"Thank you, Sera." 

Sera smiles sweetly before closing the door behind her. Alone once more, Aziraphale eats what he can. The food must have been miracled to remain warm as it was still steaming when he took the first bite. When he is sure their child had sustenance; he returns to Crowley's side. Settling into their nest, he takes his husband's hand. At first, he thought perhaps he had imagined it, but then he watches elegant fingers relax. "I am here love. I will always be here. Alexandria and I love you very much." He kisses his husband's lips, feeling an almost imperceptible twitch against his own. 'You are still with me.' "I will wait. No matter how long it takes. I will wait."


	37. Come What May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some angst. You don't survive near death without a bit of it, after all. Dr Frances... Consequences. Aziraphale has a very rough day.

He hears it. Distant heartrending echoes of a young child weeping. It pulls his essence into the world, which is dark as pitch as he rises from his resting place. At his right, a glimmer of light seeps past the outline of a door. Something about the soft cries is familiar, yet so wrong it is offensive to his ears. A sound he wishes never to hear again.

Opening the door, he is bathed in the soft, warm light of morning. Before him is his garden. Lush with life. Every flower blooming in perfection. Delicate scents carried on a warm breeze. As he steps into the light, the lawn under his bare feet crunches.

The weeping becomes more distinct. Crowley follows it as it roots in his essence. Wrapping around his core, pulling him to its source. Needing to comfort whomever it is that has the purpose of being in such an abhorrent state of grief.

"Daddy." Cried a trembling voice. Even in its despair, it sings within him. Beautiful and pure and familiar. Though he was sure, he had never heard them speak.

A soft sniffle cuts through their lamentation. Crowley hurries through the garden. Everything within him screaming his need to comfort their child. He searches, finding only flora he grows desperate. Sharp eyes spot movement beneath a massive oak. A flicker of light, radiant and dazzling shifts further into the shadows of the great boughs.

"Daddy. Why don't you come play with me anymore? I miss you. Mummy misses you." Their little voice asks of him, unknowing of his presence. It hurts in a way he has never known. His failure as a father to cause such misery in his child pierces his core. Biting in and demanding he right this egregious wrong.

Coming around the tree, he finally sees them. Shining like a brilliant star. A beacon of all his love and hope poured into one being. In their little hands, they held a spray of forget-me-nots. Cradling them as one would an injured animal. Schooling his voice gentle and soothing as he could he calls to them. Afraid they might frighten if his tone was above a whisper. "Alexandria."

"Daddy?" They ask pitiably from their hiding spot. Though he could not make out their features, he could tell they were looking at him in disbelief.

Crowley approaches slowly, heart pounding as he nears. They had yet to allow him this close. A distant phantom he chases through the garden. Shrill giggles of exhilaration and effervescent joy as they darted from view was their norm. "I'm here, kiddo." He coos, stooping before them. Reaching out a hand, he tentatively caresses their unseen cheek.

"Daddy!" Arms wrapped around his neck in a flash of glee. Their face buried in his hair. "Where have you been?" They whimper against his neck. Crowley falls to his knees, returning their embrace.

'Where? Lucifer. We were in London. Is this a dream or… No. Alexandria wouldn't be here if I were dead.' "I… I'm not sure." He admits finally, holding their child securely. They were solid and wonderfully real in his arms. His essence sang glory to this moment. From the minute they discovered they were to be parents, he had waited for this opportunity. To have them safe in his arms. To tell them how truly loved they were.

"I tried to take care of mummy. He's really sad.." They whimper. Pulling away, their featureless form stares at him. "I tried to be brave. But I was scared I'd never see you again."

"Not'a chance." He smiles warmly at them. Tipping their little chin up to look into unseen eyes. "I will always find my way back to you and mum. I love you both too much."

Alexandria dives into his arms once more. "Daddy. Mummy really needs you. You have to wake up."

'Aziraphale. God, they must be so worried. Fucking fantastic Crowley. Scaring your kid and angel like this. At least they are safe. I am coming, dove. I just need a minute.' Crowley kisses Alexandria's cheek. Shifting, he rests his back against the trunk of the oak. Cradling them in his lap. "Can I… can I hold you? Just for a while?"

Snuggling closer they give their consent. Head resting against his shoulder as they twirl a firey curl around their dainty finger. 'Thanks, kiddo for giving me this.' He had never known a love of this kind. True, his love for Aziraphale was fathomless, constant and consuming. A bond he held dear from the very moment they met. Yet this was new and indescribable. A parent's love, he knew. 'I will protect you both. No matter what.'

"I love you, daddy." They say, nearly a whisper.

Crowley can't stop them. He doesn't even try. Tears of his overwhelming and resounding happiness, hearing those four simple words, pour from him. It means everything. 'You love me. Me. God, I will never be able to thank you for this. But...Thanks.'' Crowley kisses their forehead. "Your mummy and I love you very much, Alexandria."

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Why are you crying?" They inquire meekly.

"S'nothing. Just hearing you say you love me, …ngk." He nearly falls into a complete sobbing mess before them. 'I hope I deserve it. That you aren't ashamed of me being a demon.'

Shifting to look at their father in what Crowley felt was concern they wipe his tears away. "Daddy, if it makes you sad I won't say it anymore."

Stopping their hand because he wasn't sure if he could withstand their love and sweet concern, he quickly corrects their child. "No, no, no, no, Alexandria. Daddy always wants to hear you say it. W'never you want." 'For eternity if I can.'

"Okay. But I will probably be saying it a lot." They confess as if it might become an annoyance. Taking up a thicker section of hair, they begin to comb through it sheepishly.

"Your mummy and me will never get tired of hearing it. Anytime you want, alright?" He assures their child. 'Never.'

"You promised to dance with mummy and me." Alexandria reminds him of their evening at the Ritz.

'I was. We were going to dance all night. Fucking Lucifer. I'll make this up to you, Aziraphale. Could I? Would they like to dance here?' "We could dance now. If you want." He offers, taking one of their little hands.

"Then you'll dance with mummy?" Alexandria asks in excitement. Crowley wasn't entirely sure, but they appeared to shine brighter at the thought.

Standing, scooping them into a modified waltz hold he quirks a grin. "F'course. I am going to dance with you and mummy every day from here on out. Deal?"

"Deal." They agree excitedly. Music began to play; it's origin Crowley couldn't decern. Light piano notes filling the air. He recognised the tune. A classic American song from 1970. 'Decent taste in music, kid.' Crowley turns them in a slow swaying dance. Wondering if their child had chosen the song for the lyrics or merely liked the melody.

As the piano cords continue without the accompanying vocals, Crowley mumbles the missing words. "You and I must make a pact, We must bring salvation back, Where there is love, I'll be there, I'll reach out my hand to you, I'll have faith in all you do, Just call my name, and I'll be there. I'll be there to comfort you, Build my world of dreams around you. I'm so glad that I found you. I'll be there with a love that's strong; I'll be your strength, I'll keep holdin' on. Let me fill your heart with joy and laughter; Togetherness is all I'm after. Whenever you need me, I'll be there. I'll be there to protect you, With unselfish love that respects you, Just call my name, and I'll be there." 'I promise. As long as I exist, I will always be there for you and mum. Through n'yth'n.'

The hand that rests around his neck twirls a finger in his hair. Crowley was quickly learning; this was to be a thing of theirs. He welcomed it. Every moment he could share with their child was precious beyond measure. 'I am never cutting my hair again.'

As the song neared the end, Crowley dips his little armful. A resounding fit of giggles ringing out the whole way. He wants desperately to see their smile. Sure his imagination did it no justice.

When their laughter subsides Crowley hugs them close, one final time. 'Few short months. Just a few more months. Please don't grow up too fast.' "I am going to wake up now. Will you be alright?"

Pushing out of their father's tight hold, Alexandria announces proudly, "Yup." Emphasising the p. "Will you read to me again?"

Huffing a laugh, he gives their little back a rub. 'You're going to be so much like Aziraphale.' "Sure kiddo."

"Bye, daddy."

"See you soon, Alexandria."

Friday 10 January 2019  
11:56 am  
The Cottage

It had been nine days. Nine agonisingly long days since Aziraphale began his vigil. He had spent every moment at his husband's side. Sleeping fretfully when he could. Eating the food, their friends kindly prepared and brought to him. Ysabel saw that he took his vitamins each morning without fail. He had thanked them profusely but intended to do more when his husband was recovered.

He had taken to leaving their bedroom door open when he felt up to their intrusions. An unspoken signal everyone respected. Only once had the door been ignored. It had been a dark moment when he had allowed fear to consume him. He must have made a horrible fuss because Sera burst through the door. She had remained long into the evening. Being the shoulder he needed, reassuring him that he had not lost his beloved. Nor failed his husband in any way.

He woke the next morning tucked snuggly in their nest. Feeling awfully guilty for causing such a ghastly scene. He had tried to apologise, but nobody would have any of it. Especially Sera who had taken to checking in more frequently. Finding any excuse to linger a bit longer. Just to be sure Aziraphale was holding up alright.

Adam made a miraculous visitation the previous day. Having been grounded for "wandering off" that the fateful evening, it was his first opportunity to check on his friend. The boy brought a thoughtfully written card, and balloon reading Get Well Soon. He spent an hour chatting about his adventures with his friends in Hogback Wood. Promising when he was able to return he would bring said friends to wish Crowley a speedy recovery as well.

As things stood this morning, Aziraphale found a new reason to pace their room. Hands anxiously wringing as he pondered his options. He had, three times, in fact, postponed their appointment with Dr Frances. It was now Friday. The last opportunity to keep their scheduled time for updated photos of their little one. Crowley, if he were awake, would insist on their going. Aziraphale appreciates his husband's desire for every memento of their pregnancy. Encouraged it even. Yet, he had always been there. And now he could not. Moreover, Aziraphale was loathed to leave him unattended for an instant. Should Crowley wake and he not be there he would never forgive himself.

'What to do? Perhaps I could have Dr Frances come here.' He paused his anxious movements to look at his husband. 'No. A human in Crowley's condition would surely be in hospital. Perhaps I could put it off until Crowley wakes. Temeluch said our baby was fine. Strong even. Surely I could miss one appointment.' Even the thought felt wrong. Scrunching his face in exasperations, he resumes his march. 'I could...no. There has to be a solution.'

Glancing at Crowley, not for the second time he sighs in defeat. Going to their nest, he sits. Taking his husband's hand, tracing the lines of his palm. He had seen soothsayers divine someone's fortunes in such a way. But if there were any answers to be gleaned, he could not say. “I don’t want to leave you.” he whimpers to the silence. Aziraphale nearly shrieks as the hand he cradles closes on his own. Head turning sharply to find golden eye gleaming up at him. “Crowley!” he does shriek. Diving on his husband he grabs his face. Crowley winces at the sudden forceful contact. Aziraphale quickly withdrawals, "So sorry. Did I hurt you?"

Upon waking Crowley felt a surge of heat rush through him. It was intense and consuming in an instant. His angel's voice the only thing tethering to consciousness. Needing a focal point, he claims Aziraphale's ringed hand. Drawing it back to his cheek. "Ts'alright, angel."

'You feel feverish. What in Heaven's name?" Aziraphale places his other hand on his husband's chest. The same heat radiating fiercely there as well. "Crowley, my love, you are burning up."

'Fuck this hurts. Get it together. You have a family to take care of.' "I'll be fine." he groans rolling to his side. Every muscle in his corporation igniting as he does. 'Shit. What the Hell is this?' Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to sitting, burning all the more with every movement. Sensing Aziraphale's anxiety, he peers up at his angel, feigning a smile. Hopefully a reassuring one. His vision oscillating between intensely bright to near-total darkness. 'I can do this. All in m'head. Mind over matter and whatnot. Come on, come on. Aziraphale needs you.'

Aziraphale didn't have his husband's gift of sensing what the other was feeling. Something he wished he had at the current moment. There was something amiss. Crowley looked ashen and pale. Jaw firmly set as he sways ever so subtly towards him. 'Oh, my love, you are still unwell. He did cause himself a great trauma. It might be some time yet before he is fully recovered. What to do? He shouldn't overexert himself. I should stay. Crowley always cares so diligently for us. It is my turn to take care of him. Yes. Buck up, Aziraphale. We are going to figure this out together.' "I am so very glad you are awake, dearest. ”

"Sorry to worry you, dove. Just needed…" The burning bit in, harder, gnawing at his core. Crowley nearly doubles over but manages to stop himself. A sharp twitch the only tell he let slip. 'Shit, shit, shit. Your angel needs you.' Something pushes against the inferno. Trying to beat it back. His essence huddles close to the force. Where the fires burn the other is warm, familiar, home.

Though his husband tried to hide it, he saw the flicker of pain streak across his handsome features. Hands reaching out, gently resting on his shoulders. In an attempt to give support should Crowley become faint. “What can I do?”

'None of that. I know you. Probably fussed over me the whole bloody time I was out. How long was'et? Shit.' Crowley's looks down at his angel's belly. Through his diminished vision, he could tell there wasn't a drastic change in the bump. 'Not too long then.' He could feel Aziraphale's eyes assessing him, trying to puzzle out this new problem. “Kiss me.” he finally pleads.

He hadn't admitted, even to himself, how much he missed his husband's touch. He had grown to expect it, cherishing the extraordinary closeness they shared. Then it was gone. It seemed a selfish thing when he didn't know if Crowley would ever wake. Now, at hearing the simple request, the dam crumbles. He felt the prickle of tears as he shifts closer. Ever so carefully, he unites their lips. 'I've missed you so. I didn't know what to do. I thought I'd lost you.'

He allows himself to cry. Fear gave way to joy. Joy of his lover's return and gratitude that Crowley was safe. His essence sang to its mate. The ancient unspeakable language only their kind could produce.

Crowley understood, it was his angel's beautiful warm love pushing into him. It forcing past the burning, past the pain. Quenching it in a euphoric rush. Almost unconsciously Crowley grabs Aziraphale; deepening the kiss. Hands cradling his family as the sheer unbridled desire provides him succour. Losing himself in the reliving waves, he lowers them to the nest.

'Surely you aren't up to this yet? You need to recover. Lord give me strength.' Aziraphale pulls away, "Crowley, dearest. We...um…" Denied a pliant mouth his husband seeks lower. Claiming his neck in a delicious caress of teeth and tongue. 'Oh, Heavens that feels wonderous. No. This is for Crowley.' "Dearest, I have an-an appointment. If I don't leave s-soon, I'll be...dearest that feels… I'll be late!"

Crowley gives one last nip at the creamy skin, causing his angel to shudder in his arms. "Don't worry, dove." He purrs low and enticing. "I'll get us there."

A hand slips between his thighs. Leaving a trail of goose flesh as it glides up to his effort. 'Lord Almighty, I am such a weak angel. Right. Crowley's needs first.' Aziraphale stays his husband's hand. Feeling it's warmth agonisingly close. "Crowley, my love. We should hold off...that is. I...we...I've already rescheduled. I must insist we uh...we...that is if you feel up to it...we get a wiggle on."

'Dr Frances. Like I'd let you go alone?' "M'not the Dowling sod. C'mon. Let's go see our kiddo. Got a Hell of a story to tell you on the way." He withdraws his hand to rest on his angel's hip. The waves of desire fade, but the worst of the burning is kept stifled by his angel's radiant affection. 'Right, so, that works. Now all I have to do is keep you happy. Planned on doing that anyhow. Is that wrong? Maybe I should just tell you? No. You'll drive yourself mad, trying to help.'

Staring up into golden eyes, Aziraphale can't help but smile. 'You are anything but that boarish imbecile. I am so lucky to have you.' "I love you." He says blissfully.

"I love you too, dove." Crowley purrs, sweeping a stray ringlet from his angel's prettily flushed cheek.

Remembering their cottage full of guests Aziraphale shouts, "Your sister! I should tell her at once. Sera is going to be so pleased. She has been made our guardian, can you believe? And the others. My love, we have the most extraordinary friends. They all came. Even Adam. The dear sweet boy. Brought you a stationary and balloon. Just over there." Aziraphale points to their nightstand. His husband's hungry stare diverted, Aziraphale riggles free. Hurrying to stand, and put some needed distance between them; as his failing resolve could not withstand much more. He smoothes down his soft tartan dress. 'I promise when you have healed completely, I will give myself to you in any manner you wish. As frequently as you desire. But for the time being, I will not jeopardise you.'

Crowley rises, the burning smoulders at the edges of his senses, but manageably. He tips his angel's chin up. The anxious, guilty little pout too irresistible not to claim. 'I know what you are doing. Fussy little angel.' Pulling slowly away, he basks in the dark look of desire so clear in Aziraphale's eyes. 'Let's see who is more determined.'

Shedding his pyjamas for something a bit more suitable for public, Crowley makes quite the spectacle of the simple task; for his angel's benefit. Taking his angel's hand he guides them downstairs. His legs a little unsteady as they descend the steps, though he gets the hang of it. A vaguely familiar face gapes at him from their sofa, before darting off for the kitchen stuttering that he is awake. A flurry of chairs groans against the floor as the clatter of flatware echoes through the cottage.

Sera is the first to appear. She too looking as if she was witnessing the dead rise. Clinging to the entrance to the kitchen she is silent at they approach.

"Hey, tag along," Crowley says quirking a mischievous grin.

"Brother," She murmurs, blinking back tears.

"Do I look that awful?" He jokes to his angel.

"Seen you better." Sera covers her smile with a hand. Something steals her mirth almost as soon as she found it. "I'm sorry Crowley...I…"

'Not you too.' "Sera, Aziraphale is safe because of you. Don't you dare apologise." 'To me of all aresholes.' "Suppose you'll be coming with us then, eh guardian?" He asks, acknowledging his sister's new charge with a mocking tone.

Sera looks to Aziraphale in surprise. Who appeared just as taken aback as she. Hand rising to his chest, wide-eyed with alarm. Realising her friend had yet to discuss what happened that night she resigns herself to confess. Hoping her brother would one day forgive her failings. "I did nothing. Aziraphale was nearly killed because of me."

"Nearly...what are you talking about?" Crowley looks from Sera to his angel. Who gazes up at him apologetically.

"I was going to tell you. When...well, I was so excited when you woke it slipped my mind. Sera wasn't there. I… Michael…" Aziraphale's hand covers the place where the blade had torn through him. Though Adam had done an excellent job healing the wound, he still could recall its sting if he thought on it. "Michael was masquerading as Sera. I was trying to assist you when… they attacked me."

"Whot?" Crowley growls. Serpent eyes bleeding fully gold in his rage. Anxiety takes over his angel and the burning ebbs in, be it not as severe as before.

"They intended on killing our child. I…they knew my guard would be down around Sera." Aziraphale informs, hands wringing nervously before him. Eyes large as saucers. 'I should have told you straight away.' "Please don't worry. Our Alexandria destroyed them. And Adam saved me. He healed you as well."

'Knew there was something off. One mistake. Even one mistake and my family could be destroyed.' He stops his angel's worried hands, pulling his family into his arms. "I am sorry, dove." 'I am a shit husband. No wonder God thought we needed a guardian.'

Yet another thing he missed was brought back to him. They may have not always been kind to one another, but from the moment they met, Aziraphale felt safe with Crowley. Safe in a way Heaven could never replicate, nor tried to do so. Clinging to his husband's silk shirt, he allows himself to relax. 'You always let me be so soft.' "It was not your doing, darling. And I have plenty I intend to properly apologise for."

"Hey, Crowley. Finally awake?" Anathema says from behind Sera. Her fiance waving at her side.

"Bookgirl." He smiles at their witch. 'Thanks for taking care of my angel.' "How very observant of you."

Anathema gives him a taunting smirk. Silently happy, her obnoxious kind-hearted demon was back. "Don't you have an appointment in London to get to?"

"That we do. Guardian, you coming or what?" Crowley asks, turning Aziraphale towards the garage.

Sera hurries and gives Ysabel a quick kiss before following her charges.

Waiting in their garage is The Bentley and her new cousin. Crowley gives his beauty a once over, making sure there were no blemishes on the antique. "Miss me?" The Bentley roars to life Queen's Driven By You fills the garage in an instant.

Driving towards London Crowley tells his angel of his dream. Their little one pulling him from the darkness, returning him to the world of the living. Aziraphale didn't appear in the least surprised until he told them of their dance. Both his angel and sister listen intently to his tale. He was sure to account for even the smallest of details.

Divinity Obstetrics and Gynecology  
1:30 pm

"Mr Crowley? We heard you had a terrible accident." Nurse Agnes inquires suspiciously of him.

"Perhaps my wife should take up your profession? She is an exceptional nurse." He smirks to the gloomy woman.

"Good afternoon Sera." Agnes greets the striking young lady. Formerly mute, striking young lady.

"Uh...hel-hello?" Sera nervously smiles.

"I see the miracle is holding." Agnes asserts with an appraising scowl.

"Paise be." Jeers Crowley. "Miracles seem to be the order of the day."

"Indeed." Snips their nurse before proceeding, business as usual.

Their visit is routine by now. Dr Frances reviews their chart. Confirming everything was in order. Aziraphale left out the brush with death from his explanation of recent happening.

Dr Frances humours them with many shots of their photogenic baby. Though she had growing concerns about the additional limbs, she figures it best to save unpleasant conversations for the end of the visit.

When at last her examination is complete, and the father had his trophies, she sits forward on her seat. She knew it was a lost cause, but she had to try all the same. "Mrs Crowley I know you said you intend to go forward with a home birth. But your baby's condition seems to be getting worse. The additional limbs are now growing at the same rate as their arms. If this continues, a vaginal delivery may be impossible."

'Lord, I was hoping this would not be an issue.' "Your concern has been noted, doctor." He says politely, taking his husband's hand. "My husband and I are in agreement we do not want to have our child in hospital."

With a heavy sigh, Dr Frances shifts uncomfortably on her rolling stool. Collecting her thoughts as to how best to approach a difficult patient. Coming to a conclusion that appealing to the emotional father might be her best course of action, she tries again. "And what if your child's life is at risk?" That got both of her patient's attention. Mr Crowley looked to his wife petitioning something they alone understood.

'Maybe we should listen? They have had enough threats to their life already. We can't continue to get lucky. I'll take care of it. Nobody will even know we were there.' He tightens his hand on Aziraphale's. The other comes up to caress his angel's belly. 'I'll take care of everything. I need you both safe.'

Pouting his disapproval of the idea Aziraphale gives his husband a little shake of his head in refusal. 'You know how I feel about it. It has to be our nest. I'll have you with me. And Ysabel. Temeluch said everything is fine. Please understand, my love.'

Knowing he would yet again cave to his angel's wishes, Crowley brings Aziraphale's hand to his lips. 'Whatever you want. We'll figure it out.'

Undeterred Dr Frances continues, "Mrs Crowley, to proceed with the false idea that you can safely deliver your baby at home will most likely put both of you at risk. It is very dangerous and reckless on your behalf quite frankly. They may become stuck in the birth canal. A c-section could be the only option to save them..."

Aziraphale wasn't sure the exact cause, but he was suddenly panicking. The room seemed to be closing in around him. Their doctor's words fading into the background, melding with the ticking of the clock on the wall. He felt nauseous, head reeling as she droned on about what he should do. It was as if Gabriel were in the middle of scolding him. Going on about his incompetence. He once again unable to live up to the angelic standards. His husband's hand clutches his tightly, drawing him out of the mental fog. 'You were the only one who ever listened to me. Ever tried to understand. Gabriel always made me feel wrong. All of them. I wasn't wrong. And I am not wrong now.' He felt anger broiling within him. Anger and frustration at not being heard. 'This is our baby. Ours. I am their mother.' Aziraphale scowls at his feet. Chest rising and falling rapidly as he tries to maintain his polite composure. Frances's voice a billow on his heated ire.

"And once more, it is my professional advice, for your child's well being, we have a team ready to remove the growths…."

"No!" He shouts, startling both his husband and their doctor. He glares at the woman with disdain. "You will not be cutting on our baby. And I will not be going into some hospital."

Seeing that she struck a nerve, Dr Frances assesses her normally pleasant patient. She was angry, fists clenched knuckles white in her lap. Her poor husband appeared to be in a great deal of pain from their joined hands. "Have you informed your midwife of your baby's condition?"

"Of course we have, madam. And she isn't in the least concerned." Aziraphale wiggles off the bed. A bit more clumsily than he would have liked.

"Mrs Crowley if your midwife doesn't take this matter seriously perhaps you should find another midwife?"

Snatching up his coat and scarf he hurries to put them on. At hearing her impune Ysabel's qualifications, he whirls on her. "I have every confidence in her abilities." 'I can not say the same for you.'

"Mrs Crowley…" Dr Frances tries to speak reason to her upset patient before being abruptly cut off.

"Doctor Frances! We appreciate everything you have done for us, but I think perhaps we no longer need your services. In fact, I am quite sure of it. This is our decision. Not yours." The authority in his tone stunned everyone in the room. Including himself. 'I will not be ordered around or made to feel a fool any longer.'

Dr Frances stood. She tugged at the sleeves of her white coat, forcing her face emotionless and calm. "As you wish. Though I think you are making a serious mistake."

He could feel his husband at his back. Warm and reassuring. It felt oddly exhilarating giving the bossy doctor what for. 'Alexandria is our baby, and we are the only ones who get to decide what is best for them.' "Well, it is my mistake to make." Turning to Crowley, he sees confusion staring back at him. "Dearest, I wish to leave." Before his husband could respond, he was striding past the woman and out into the hall.

It had been like a switch. One second his angel was happy and dreamily smiling on the exam bed. After their doctor spoke about the dangers they could face, it all shifted. He had seen what his angel was capable of when threatened by the legions of Hell. He was glad his very emotional spouse hadn't been that incensed with the human.

Anxiety had abruptly shifted to anger. The loving barrier to the burning was wrenched away, leaving him entirely at its mercy. For which it had none. Quickly gathering his own outerwear, he hurries to follow. Every muscle screaming as he tries to catch up. "Aziraphale!"

Hearing his husband call after him, he doesn't look back. "We are leaving. I will not entertain the subject any further." He spat the words as he surged past their sardonic nurse. Something in Agnes's eyes caught him off guard. They seemed to speak of approval of some sort. Aziraphale burst into the waiting room, causing his sister in law to leap from her seat. Without pause, he exits out into the street, marching straight for the Bentley. The old car must have sensed his frustration as the passenger door opened on its own to allow him in.

"Aziraphale! Aziraphale! Angel, wait!" Crowley shouts, stumbling down the steps. Sera was close behind him looking as confused as he felt. Reaching the Bentley, he holds up a staying hand, "Give's a bit."

"The nerve of that woman. She wants to remove their wings. I think not." Aziraphale mumbles to himself as he adjusts his scarf. He felt the car dip as his husband took up his seat behind the wheel. "The nerve."

For a long moment, he sat, not knowing what to say to calm his angel. Who was irritably staring out the window. 'Hormonal angel. Extremely pissed off hormonal angel. I am so glad I didn't do this. Ok. How to fix it?' "Aziraphale are you alright?"

"Crowley I will not have that...that...b-b...BARBARIAN making plans to mutilate our child." Aziraphale jabs and irritable finger at the offending building. Resting back in his seat, the idea nearly brings him to tears. 'Nobody will hurt you. You are perfection. How dare she?'

"Dove, she doesn't know they are wings." Crowley tries in vain to soothe his angel's wrath. Who's expression appearing as if someone had made off with the entirety of Aziraphale's collection of books.

Rubbing anxiously on the soft woollen hem of his coat, he hated feeling this upset. Millennia of conditioning told him it was wrong. Yet, he could not quell the emotions that overtook him. "We will just have to procure one of those contraptions. You may have all the photographs you like then. The absolute nerve."

'Contraptions? You can barely use a landline.' "And who is going to work the damn thing, Aziraphale?" Crowley asks of the absurd idea. 'Guess I could figure it out.'

Realising his husband was speaking he blinks trying to figure out the first part of the sentence. "What?"

"The machine. I don't know the first thing about how it works."

"Oh, we can sort that out later." He says with a dismissive wave. 'You are brilliant. I'm sure you'll pick it up like you do everything else."

"Are you sure you aren't… Y'know...overreacting?" Crowley asks, settling on the descriptor, instantly regretting it.

Shifting to face his husband, he is shocked at the accusation. "Overreacting?" Aziraphale frowns at Crowley. "That woman wants to disfigure our child, and you think I'm overreacting?"

Putting up his hands in surrender, Crowley quickly corrects his error, "Misspoke." When his angel relaxes, slightly, he claims a fretting hand. "You have to know I would never let that happen. Not ever." Crowley assures caressing soft knuckles. The warmth bubbles back to the surface in little bursts of love. Only to be quickly shrouded by the flood of darker emotions. His angel appears on the verge of tears as they sit in silence. Blue eyes lost to some train of thought beyond them. "Are you sure you don't want to... i'duno...think on it? I could call in a couple days. Tell'em we reconsidered. That we aren't changing our minds, but we still want to have them check on their health?"

"There is nothing to consider. I have had quite enough of being told what I ought or ought not do. Who I should or shouldn't be. I will not have our baby afraid to be who they are. I do not answer to Gabriel anymore. And I...I…" 'If I am going to be their mother, I should be strong. I have to be. I hope I can be. For them. ' "...I...I am sorry, my love. I am not angry with you. I'm just…"

Crowley felt it. The anger ebbing away, leaving radiant love, and a tinge of sorrow. It was a heavy combination of sensations. 'Finally realising what those bastards did to you.' "Emotional?" He offers instead, caressing his angel's cheek.

'You are always right here when I need you. I love you so much.' "Maybe a bit. I…"

Crowley shifts closer, holding his family. "Listen, I know you have had a really difficult week. And you are pregnant. Which is hard enough on its own, I'm sure. I love you, dove. And if you never want to see this place again, we won't." Aziraphale relaxes in his arms. Head resting against his shoulder. A little hiccuping huff tickles through his hair. 'I am here now. Should have been here sooner.' "Have you eaten?"

"Not really, no. Tea and my vitamins. I couldn't stomach food this morning." He admits with another hiccup. Nuzzling closer, breathing in his husband's familiar scent. Dr Frances's warnings play through his thoughts. Gripping his husband's hand, he whimpers. "What she was saying. Dr Frances. Crowley, I want to have our child in our nest. But if...Crowley what if she is right? What if it is dangerous for them?"

"I won't lie and say I know what will happen." He beings softly. "But I do know you are strong…" He kisses his angel's brow. Aziraphale lets out a little whimper. Hand fisting harshly in his coat sleeve. "I am going to be there. And if anyone can do this, it's you. If you don't want to go back, we will figure it out. If you want to go back, I'll handle it. Just say the word. If you need time to decide, take it. Whatever you need, dove, I'm here."

'How can think I am strong? Why are you so good to me? I should be caring for you. I should be attending to your recovery. Not having you comfort me.' Looking up at his mate, he whispers, "I love you so much. We are so lucky to have you, darling." Lip quivering as he tries to keep his flooding emotions in check.

"Ehhh, Just do'n my job." Crowley shrugs, though thoroughly relishes this angel's words. "I love you too." Leaning down, he kisses his angel with every ounce of tenderness he could manage. Soft lips trembling against his own. He holds the kiss until his angel pulls away. It wasn't until Aziraphale snuggles more into his embrace that he realises the burning was at last imperceptible. "Let's get you home. I'll make lunch, and you can catch me up on e'rythi'n I missed." 

"You don't have to, dearest. I can manage." Aziraphale sniffles, trying to compose himself.

"Will you let me, dove?" He purrs the question. His angel nods against his shoulder. With a quick rap at the window, he shouts to his sister. "Get in guardian!"

Seeing her brother had no intention of moving to physically allow her in Sera peers around at the passing humans. Confident nobody is paying her any mind she miracles into the back seat. Watching her sibling lovingly position his angel so that so that he could comfort them and drive makes her melt. If she were honest, she couldn't understand why their mother had banished him with the others. This was not a demon. Not to her estimation at any rate. Crowley was never one of them.

  
The Cottage  
5:41 pm

Crowley had made a bountiful lunch. Much more than his angel could hope to finish alone. Their little group of misfits joining them to help Aziraphale fill in any pieces of the past week his angel may have forgotten to mention. Sera, while out of earshot of the others, had told him the truth of just how despondent Aziraphale had been. Something his angel had tried to gloss over during the table conversation. 

After his angel and his many questions were sated, they both retired to their nest. The unpleasantness of their appointment forgotten so they could enjoy their souvenirs. Crowley assuming the position that supported Aziraphale 'better than any pillow could.' His angel's plush legs resting over his to alleviate any back pain. Arm cradling Aziraphale's head as they chatted about their child. Each sharing every detail about their meetings. 

Thankful for the ease of access his angel's dress afforded he slips a hand underneath to caress the swell of belly. Supple skin fluttering under his touch. "Thanks for looking out for mummy kiddo," Crowley whispers to Alexandria. Contorting himself, he bows to kiss their baby. 

Aziraphale smiles, blissfully down on his husband. Fingers brushing flaming curls away from handsome features. "They missed you as well. They haven't been this active in days." 

Think on his angel's words and his dream Crowley remembers his promise to their little one. Shooting up to hover over Aziraphale, he excitedly exclaims, "Oi, I owe you a dance." 

Scowling at his husband's proposition, "No, dearest. No. You don't have to." 'Lord, I should have known the moment you were awake you wouldn't be able to sit still for long.'

"I do." His voice rose in a happy lilt. Holding out an inviting hand, "I promised Alexandria." Aziraphale's brow lifts questioningly. Throwing his arms wide, he explains, "Told them I would dance with you both every day. C'mon." He beckons his angel with his a wave of his fingers. 

Taking his husband's hand, he rises from the nest. Crowley assisting him gently to his feet. The beautiful flowing strings of Saint-Saen's The Swan fills their bedroom. It was a beautiful song. Aziraphale often thinking on his love when he heard it. Swept up in a moment not so dissimilar from this one. Held close in Crowley's arms, a strong hand pressed to the small of his back. Swaying to the elegant tempo. A breath away from captivating lips. 'How can you be so perfect, my love?'

Crowley turns them slow. His angel beaming up at him with a brilliant smile. Beauty incarnate, shining just for him. It was a simple perfect moment they had fought hard for, and won. Again. His family, his world in his arms. Dancing as they should have through history. Had either of them had allowed it. Crowley leans in, lips brushing against his angel's ear. "You make everything worth it."  
  
It was an exquisite arrow through his heart. 'Everything?' Crowley's everything was dark and cruel most times. The idea that he had in any measure been a comfort to his beloved was more cherished than a million romantic gestures. The time they shared together in Crowley's room of stars called to mind. His story laid bare. Every brush with destruction they faced together. Crowley laying near lifeless in his arms. All of it knotted painfully in his chest. And yet here they were. 'Everything.'

His angel's gip fisted in his shirt. They were still. Cleaving to one another in a tight embrace. They were not mortals, but unlike any of their kind they knew as only mortals can, how precious every second is. How fragile happiness and love were against the universe. How precious this bond was. Crowley was the first to break the silence. "Dove?"

"I thought you had been destroyed," Aziraphale whispers pitiably. 

"You should know by now," Crowley says, shifting just enough to be able to look into shining sapphires. Smiling warmly, he says sarcastically, "Stubborn arse, me. Impossible to get rid of."

They both laugh at his husband's absurdity. "I am glad for it, my darling." 

'If I don't do this now? Aziraphale has been through so much already. There will never be a good time. You put this off any longer, and they'll be in danger.' "Dove?"

"Hmmm?" Aziraphale hums. 

'I am sorry.' "I am going to have you promise me something. This is not a request. Promise me." He pleads sternly.

Pulling back, he frowns at the severe change in his husband's demeanour. Frowning, "What is it, dearest?"

Crowley draws his angel onto the edge of the bed. Keeping soft hand firmly in his grip. Taking a deep breath to steel his resolve. 'Please, God let Aziraphale understand.' "If something like this should ever happen again. If there is any chance you or our child, our Alexandria, could come to any harm, you leave. You take them and leave. To Heaven, to Alfa Centauri, if need be. You leave. Even if keeping this promise means I don't make it." Crowley braces his corporation's heart for what is to come. 'It is for the best.'

Pulling his hand free, he stares at his husband. The room once again impossibly small. "You can't ask me that." His breaths shallow and rapid as he comprehends what his husband was asking of him. 'Leave you? Watch you be destroyed and do nothing to prevent it? Raise our child without you? Without them knowing how their father loved them? I can't.'

"I am. And you have to promise me." Crowley says, hating himself. 'If I wasn't a demon. None of this would have happened. It should be me for that alone.'

He knew he should agree. His husband would never allow harm to come to them. To try and argue against it only put them both in danger. And now their baby as well. It was the calculative right thing to agree to. There was no telling that to his heart that railed against the thought. "And what...what if I can't?"

'Then we both lose everything.' Reaching out, he reclaims his angel's hand. "Please, dove. For me. And for our child."

"But...I love you..." Aziraphale pleads, feeling his world fall away from him. Tears silently slip down his cheeks, facing an eternity alone. It was incomprehensible to him. Bleak stark eternity missing a piece of himself. It was an emptiness he feared above all else. Crowley gone.

"Then promise me." He begs. Bringing his angel's hands up to kiss his petition to his divine love. 'Promise me.'

"I...I c-can't l-lose you, Crowley. You are my w-w-world." He sobs. Folding into his husband's arms. 

Crowley loathed everything about himself as he held his angel against him. 'I'm so fucking sorry Aziraphale. If I could change it, I would.' "And what is our child then?"

"I need you both." He shrieks into his mate's arm.

"And if you can't have both? You have to choose them." 'You have to.'

"I…" 'Alexandria.' A hand presses firmly into his belly. Their baby dancing against his palm. 'Why must I choose at all? Why must we have to continue to fight?'

"Dove, I am begging you to choose them. You won't be abandoning me. You won't be giving me up. You will be showing me how much you love me by doing this. You have to promise." Crowley sees his angel biting harshly on the words as Aziraphale nods in affirmation. "I need to hear you say it, dove."

"I...I... promise." The second the words leave his lips; he feels as though Michael's sword pierced his heart. He crumbles in Crowley's arms. Weeping his immeasurable grief.

"Please, dove." He cradles his angel, rocking them softly. "I am so sorry angel."

"Y-you are-are telling me to-to leave you for...for dead." Aziraphale wails helplessly. 'I would never forgive myself.'

"I'm asking for you and Alexandria to live. To give them a chance at life. To love me and choose them." He attempts to pull his angel from the pit he dug and forces Aziraphale to accept, in the only way he felt he could. Bringing a finger up, he slowly coaxes his angel to look at him. "May I kiss you, dove?"

"Please," Aziraphale whimpers.

He closes the distance, agonisingly slow. Cold tears swept away by thumbs when heir lips meeting in a gentle caress. His angel, staccato breath ceased as he deepens the kiss. Aziraphale pressing into him. Silently beseeching for more.

Crowley lowers them both down into their nest. Tasting of each other as he loosens the buttons of his angel's dress. Throwing it open on the last he cups Aziraphale's breast. Earning him a keening moan. He wanted his angel lost in pleasure. To forget, if only for a moment, all the pain their fates demanded of them. His mouth sought lower. Teeth, tongue and lips deftly employed along the line of his angel's throat. Each caress moaned into their room. It spired him on all the more. "Please let me make love to you, dove." He purs, against his angel's breast. Fingers tucked in at the edge of Aziraphale's bra. Waiting. 

"Crowley we shouldn't." Aziraphale gasps, hearing his own desperate need echoed back to him. "I mean...I don't want to rush you. You are only just recovered." His husband's warm breath making him yearn for his touch.

Feeling his angel's need pulsing within him, he gives a tender nip at the ample swell. "I am the one seducing you, and you're worried about rushing me?"

Nearly giving in at his husband's mention of seduction Aziraphale breathlessly murmurs, "Well, when you put it that way…" 'I did promise...No. I will not let you harm yourself for me.' "we shouldn't."

'Are we still at this game?' He lifts off of his angel. "If you don't want to, I…"

"No, my love!" Aziraphale shouts desperately. Pulling his husband back down. 'Oh, dammnit.' "I do want you. I just…"

"Just what?" Crowley purrs low. Hand trailing over the plump thigh, encouraging it over his hip.

The tantalising caress made his eyes flutter closed. Head listing back into their nest. 'I shouldn't' "I don't want to cause you any harm."

"Harm?" Crowley chuckles against his angel's throat. 'Seem to remember saying the same thing to you. Not so long ago. Now, look at us.'

"This morning, you appeared to be in a great deal of pain. I don't want you to exert yourself and make it worse." Aziraphale tries to explain through the haze of his desire.

'Exert is it?' Crowley considers the implications. "I am much better now, dove." His voice velvety and low. He rises up, lips hovering over his angel's "Thanks to you."

"Crowley are you sure you are alright?" He asks feeling a feather-light brush of nails sweep over his still frustratingly clothed breast. Shuddering, as his body cried out for what his mind is denying. 

"Let me prove it to you." He whispers against his angel's lips. Aching need flowing into him is dizzying pulses. 

"Please." He sighs his agreement. Relinquishing all opposition to his husband's urgings. "Please make love to me." As Crowley descends Aziraphale sees that there are no barriers between them. Bodies pressed intimately close. The heat of his husband's arousal heavy against his thigh. 

Crowley shifts, hand slipping between them. Anticipating the welcome fullness, he gasps as long fingers slide between his folds. Finding the aching bud with a light caress. His hips thrusting down at the denial of more. 

Bowing, he claims his angel's breast. Teeth dragging off perk nipple before taking it back into his mouth. His angel moaning deliciously, as he drives his angel towards the summit. Bards of pleasure shoot through him demanding more. 

"P-please. Please, my love. I need you." His essences calls out to its mate. Dancing just at the edge of the glorious darkness. 

"I have always been yours." He purrs, lining himself

up with his angel's entrance. Thrusting up, he groans as Aziraphale's heat envelops him. A slow, comforting wave rolls through him. Sending a shiver trailing up his spine.

Crowley sets a measured rhythm. Thrusting up into his angel quickly, then slowly withdrawing. Aziraphale clinging tightly to him. His name a breathy prayer on sacred lips. As long as his angel could withstand, he would see them lost to ecstasy.

Their steady pace echoed by their mouths. Worshipping each other in kind. There was no hurry to his husband's attentions. Building them slowly towards their climax. His hands tangle desperately into Crowley's luxurious curls. The world around them lost to the fires his husband easily stokes within him.

Crowley senses it first. His angel clawing at the peak, refusing to give over to release. Aziraphale's effort constricting around him, body trembling, throat straining as he forces them higher. "I want to hear you, angel. Will you come for me, dove?"

The request is answered. Aziraphale's cries his climax, stars dancing behind clenched eyes. His husband follows with a resonating growl. Together they spiral down from their pinnacle. Crowley guiding them through each wave of euphoric release.

Gasping beneath him, his angel refuses to let him pull away. Their bodies still joined, limbs woven together. "I am here, dove."

Downstairs their friends sit around the kitchen table sipping tea. Newt uncomfortably looking around at the trio of woman. Who, were pretending not to notice the goings-on upstairs. "Well, that didn't take long." He mumbles to himself.

Anathema opens her hand to her mother. Sera and Ysabel both pass a pound note to her. Turning to her fiance, she quirks a grin. Newt riffles in his pocket and brings out his own wager.

"Are you sure you can't see the future?" Newt asks sceptically.

11 January 2020  
The Cottage  
7:25 am

Reaching over Crowley plucks up their baby's photos. Shuffling through them one last time he waves them before his drowsy angel. Crowley had seen that his angel was satisfied throught the night. Feeling no small amount of pride for a job thoroughly done. "I should get these in the book."

"I'll fetch it for you." Aziraphale sleepily offers, holding his husband all the tighter.

"No need. Bee said we are safe. Figure we don't need to hide anymore." Crowley smiles confidently. Raising up his fingers, he snaps. A sudden sharp pain punches through him. The tips of his fingers felt as though he dipped them in holy water. "Fuck!" He rasps harshly.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale cries in alarm. His husband hand cradled between them. "What, dear? What is it?"

'It felt like...no. Can't be.' He felt it once it was too late to stop it. Heaven's power called into himself. Setting his essence alight. "Hell...I can't draw my powers from Hell."

"That would mean...Are you...have you been forgiven?" Aziraphale inquires of the impossible. His husband seemed no different. 'Would you be different as an angel?'

"That didn't feel like bloody forgiveness." He grumbles, considering every alternative.

'If She had you surely wouldn't be in pain.' "We shall speak with God. Surely She can explain." Aziraphale says confident of their possible success. Scrambling from their nest, he hurries to their closet. "We will go at once."

"Angel, wait." Crowley cries. Aziraphale pauses, standing as primly as one could while nude. "Stay with me. We can go another day." He pleads.

His husband looks terrified. Reaching out for him to return. Aziraphale goes to him, allowing Crowley to pull him back into the safety of their nest. "Alright. Whenever you are ready, my love."

Pulling their tartan blanket snuggly around them, he nuzzles close. 'Not today. Give me at least today. I think we both need it.' "Thank you, dove."

'There is something you aren't telling me.' "When you are ready, my love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone sorry of the long wait. Things have been crazy. I am sure most of you can relate.


	38. I Am That I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexandria, the Them, chick needs some correction, sorry about the end.

Aziraphale stands in their lush garden. Face upturned to the sun high overhead. He smiles blissfully. He was starting to grow accustomed to these dreams. Knowing before long their Alexandria would make an appearance he waits. Wondering if this world was a reflection of his desires or their imagination. From his left, he hears rustling from the tree line. He looks, surprised when his husband is the one stepping into view. Looking as if he were searching for something.

"Where are you, kiddo?" He grumbles, hands on his hips.

"Hello, dearest." Aziraphale greets Crowley's dream representation. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Crowley glances over his angel, standing primly in their garden. "Ya know. Normally when I dream of you two together, you already have them."

"Dream of me?" Aziraphale blinks in confusion. 'This is my dream.'

"Yeah, figured after the other day they would just let me hold them again," Crowley says sauntering up to his angel's side. "Got any idea where they are?"

"Crowley are you saying…"

"Mummy! Daddy!" Comes their child's exuberant voice from across the lawn. Little feet carrying them swiftly to their parents. Arms flung wide as they giggle their joy. Both Crowley and Aziraphale stagger as they crash into them, wrapping their little arms around their legs. They give them both a quick hug before stepping back.

Aziraphale stoops, so that he may be eye level with their child. "Alexandria. How are we both here?" He couldn't make out even the hint of features, but he knew, in his essence, they were pouting when they spoke.

"I wanted to see you both. Is that okay?" They ask looking to both of them.

Aziraphale pulls Alexandria into an adoring hug. "Yes, my sweet darling. We are just surprised is all."

"Mummy?" They ask sweetly.

"Yes, my darling?"

"Can you wait here? I need Daddy to help me with a surprise."

"Of course, I will." Aziraphale releases them, kissing their little forehead. "Mummy will be right here."

Alexandria seems to brighten, darting for father. Taking by the hand, she pulls him, "C'mon daddy." Crowley shrugs to his angel. Following the little beacon of light farther into the garden.

Aziraphale isn't sure how much time passes. As such constructs seem to hold no sway over this land of fancy. Nightingale's sing their happy song from the boughs of distant trees. The scent of honeysuckle, lavender, rose, and lilac dance in the breeze. He allows himself to be lost in its abundant beauty. 'This is what Heaven should be.'

His reverie is broken by their child shushing Crowley. Both concealing, poorly, something behind their backs as they return. Aziraphale pretends not to notice. Both his cherished ones stand before him. Alexandria looking up at their father with a nod.

Two bouquets are brought forth. Crowley's containing dahlias, roses, peonies, and a single large hydrangea. Alexandria's lisianthus, stock, baby's breath, and daffodils. Though they were only part of their collective imagination Aziraphale can help but smile at the thoughtful gifts. His two gardeners pass him the flowers. "Aren't they beautiful. Thank you, Alexandria." Aziraphale looks to his husband. 'What did we do to deserve them?'

"Daddy said when I am born, he will take me in the garden and you will read to me. Will you mummy?" Their little one asks swaying slightly, waiting for Aziraphale's answer.

"I promise."

Alexandria steps between them, taking their hands. "Ready for your surprise?" This time he is given no time to respond. They are both tugged along behind them. Beneath the giant oak, where God had visited him, is a table. A kaleidoscope of flowers behind. Three chairs waiting with tea, dainty little confections, and his gramophone. Music spontaneously begins to play. Schubert's Frühlingsglaube, sang by an exceptional soprano, trills softly from the pavilion.

"Is this all for me?" Aziraphale questions in wonder.

"Yup. A tea party!" They burst excitedly. Rushing over to a chair, they hold out their hands, an offer to sit. "C'mon sit. I have all your favourites."

Crowley takes his flowers, grinning with fatherly pride. Escorting him to the offered seat. "That you do." He wasn't sure how they knew, but there was indeed all of his favourite tea-time accompaniment. Looking strikingly like ones he remembers from the Ritz.

They sit as a family. Alexandria mimicking Aziraphale's etiquette. Except their little feet swinging as they sip their tea. Aziraphale smiles to Crowley. Both parents incandescently happy and hopelessly in love with their little ray of light.

Neither speaks unless it is to answer their child's many questions. Their brilliant little mind curious and eager to learn. Both parents too enraptured to fill the moments of silence with meaningless words. Crowley also partaking in the offerings, for their child's benefit.

When the tea is gone, and most of the food consumed, Alexandria hands Aziraphale a book. Followed shortly by them climbing into his lap. He reads the cover, heart instantly melting at the title. "Winnie-the-Pooh?"

"Will you read to me now?" They ask, settling themselves in comfortably.

"I will."

They extend a hand out to Crowley, "Daddy, can you hold us?"

With a little pleased grin, he answers, "Absolutely kiddo." Before he could rise, they all materialise on a sofa. Crowley in the crook, one long leg splayed the length of the cushions. Aziraphale and Alexandria nestled before him. Grateful for his lanky arms, he encircles his family. Holding them close as requested.

Aziraphale begins to read. His little lapful nuzzling against his chest. Dainty fingers playing with the chain of his pocket watch. His essence so full of love, it was nearly painful. It wasn't long before their child grew still, lids fluttering gradually closed. Until they were resting peacefully in his arms.

Fearing they might not have much time with their dream's architect finding their own sleep Aziraphale whispers to his husband, "Crowley." 'I don't want this to end.'

"I know, dove." He answers, kissing his angel's temple.

"They are…" 'How can something be so perfect?'

"Perfect. Yeah. Your doing." Crowley says, caressing their little cheek.

"I am quite certain they are your doing as well." The thought of disturbing them was so unconscionable he dared no move. "How long do you think we have?"

"They'll let us know," Crowley answers, hoping for eternity.

"I don't want to leave them." Aziraphale breaths the words. Fearing saying them too loud would invite an end all too suddenly.

Holding his family all the tighter he whispers into his angel's ear. "Few more months and we can do this every day. Spoil them worse then Warlock." He jokes playfully.

"Just a few more months." Aziraphale agrees. 'Sleep well, darling one.'

Wednesday 15 January 2020  
7:45 am  
The Cottage

They wake just after dawn. Hands entwined, smiling peacefully at one another. Like their wondrous dream, neither feels the need to break the blissful silence. Crowley shift closer, stealing a lingering kiss from soft lips. An unspoken thanks for all his angel had given him.

When finally they hear voices from downstairs, they decide to rise. Assisting each other in dressing. Prolonging the moment with worshipful kisses and soothing caresses of their child. Crowley had never seen his angel more euphoric in all their many years. The burning was so far removed from him he wondered if he had imagined it.

The descend their stairs together. Finding Ysabel and Sera curled up on the couch. Chating with Anathema on Ysabel's iPad.

"Good morning." Aziraphale greets their guests, still floating on a cloud of love.

"Good morning, you three," Sera says from Ysabel's shoulder. Sitting up, she cradles Aziraphale's belly. "How's my little niece or nephew this morning?"

"We had a tea party last night," Aziraphale says cheerfully.

"Did you?" She inquiries in surprise. Crowley sits, guiding her friend onto the sofa with him. She imagines them with their baby. Only a piece of the image is missing. "You never told me what they look like."

"We don't know really." Admits Aziraphale. "They appear...not exactly formless but like a child made of light. Wouldn't you agree, my love?"

"Like a little ball of light or s'meth'n in the shape of a six-year-old by my guess." Crowley supplies eloquently.

"I can't wait to meet them." Sera sighs. Ysabel turns her tablet so Anathema can see the adjacent pair. Taking the opportunity to kiss Sera without her daughter having to witness.

"Hey, guys!" Their witch waves from the screen.

"Oooo!" Aziraphale exclaims. "Motion picture communication? What will humans think of next? Hello, Anathema, dear."

"You are about fifty years behind the times, angel. Been around since the seventies." Crowley chuckles at his angel's adorable obliviousness of technology. "Think it's time you ditch the rotary for something modern?"

"That's what I have you for." Aziraphale quips coyly.

"Regular Maplin, me." Crowley chides. "Hey, Bookgirl."

"What's a Maplin?" Anathema asks in confusion.

"Nuth'n. Where's your Salamander?"

"He's here." Newt peers around the corner of the kitchen to wave. "Adam was asking about you. Wants to know if you might swing by soon."

"Oh!" Aziraphale faces his husband. "Dearest, what a wonderful idea. The children must be eager to see you."

"Fine." He groans, though he didn't hate the idea. "I've got nuth'n on for the rest of the day."

Sera looks down at her loose-fitting pyjamas. "I'll go change!" She announces, bounding from the couch.

"Sera you can stay here. You don't have to hover over us at all times." Crowley offers, hoping for a days respite from said hovering.

"I am not hovering." Sera huffs from the base of the stairs. "Besides, it is my job." She hurries to her room before her brother could make a snide comment.

"Yeah, but…Ysabel don't you...I dunno...want some alone time?" 'God knows I do.' He hopes their midwife might assist in his desire for a dive, alone, with his family.

"Thank you for being concerned for my well-being." Demon was left unsaid, though an elegant cocked brow spoke the title all the same. "Adios Mi Amour. We will see you later." Ysabel ends her video call with her daughter. "I would very much like to go to Tadfeild today."

"Errr! Your no bloody help," he growls in frustration. "Look all I am saying is you two don't have to watch over us at all times."

"And what if the worst should happen? Isn't that precisely how you two came to know each other?" Ysabel asks pointedly.

"How do you mean?" Crowley glares in confusion.

"Was not Aziraphale charged with guarding the tree? And did you not take the first opportunity your angel allowed to tempt Eve?" The elegant woman supplies.

Feeling singled out, and very much attacked, Aziraphale pouts, "I got distracted. Adam asked for my assistance. What was I to say? Sorry, can't be bothered, I have to watch this one tree?"

"I am simply pointing out Sera understands the requirements of her duty. And what might happen if she fail. If you had known Crowley was in Eden, cariño, would you have left your post?" Ysabel questions, already knowing the answer.

"No." Aziraphale pouts all the more. "Not initially." He says, hands wringing with guilt. 'It was my fault, wasn't it?'

Taking his angel's nervous hand, he draws it back to his lips. Casting his sister's paramour a taunting sneer. 'You will not make my angel feel guilty in our home, witch.' "Worked out well for us. Didn't it, dove?"

"That it did." Aziraphale agrees, leaning into his husband.

"Your sister loves you both deeply. Don't make her job more difficult because it is an inconvenience." Ysabel commands for her lover's sake. 

"Whotever." he concedes the point flippantly.

"P-perhaps on the way w-we could-could g-go for breakfast. Archangel Aziraphale nee-needs su-sus-susten-food." Temeluch stammers, entering the room with Aziraphale's vitamins and a fresh cup of tea.

"Who invited you?" Crowley asks hostilely at yet another uninvited addition to their party.

"Be nice, Crowley." Aziraphale scolds. 'Lord knows the poor dear has had quite enough abuse from Gabriel.'

"Demon." Crowley reminds.

A finger under his husband's chin coaxes his lips to his. Aziraphale gives Crowley a lingering, sensual kiss. Once he feels his husband tensions ease, he pulls away. "For me, my love?"

"That is not fair." He growls his vexation. Sighing in defeat, he mumbles, "Where to?"

"Thank you, dearest." Aziraphale rewards his husband with another quick peck.

Crowley felt quite the genius when he successfully convinced his sister, and the rest of their group, to follow in Sera's Christmas present. The flashy little convertible remaining close as they drove to where the Apocalypse nearly happened. Just outside of the little town Aziraphale spies a quaint restaurant to his liking.

They are quickly seated. All focused on their menus when a youthful blonde approaches. Her green eyes instantly drawn to the redheaded gentleman at the table. "Good morning, everyone. I'm Regina. What can I get for you?"

Being the easiest order at the table Crowley thrusts his menu at the girl. "Double espresso, me. Dove?"

Smiling sweetly at their server, who had far too much cleavage peeking through her blouse to be considered professional, he orders "Chamomile tea please, and the waffles. They sound scrummy."

Temeluch raises his hand. The slight angel meekly states his order, "E-earl gre-ey tea. F-full English." Their waitress, jots the items down, though her full interest is on Crowley.

Sera, now versed in the look the woman regards her brother with, prickles at the human's impertinence. "Excuse me." She calls the woman to divert her attention. "Blueberry pancakes and a cappuccino." She did not finish the sentence with "and keep your grubby little eyes to yourself," though she wanted to.

"Eggs Florentine and a latte," Ysabel adds, wishing for a Café con Leche.

Regina notes the orders. Slipping her note pad into her pocket, she places a hand on the handsome man's shoulder. His pregnant wife at his side was pretty enough, though dressed like a schoolmarm. He, on the other hand, looked like anything but an uptight stiff. Possibly a little dangerous, if provoked. She glides her hand down his arm as she steps away, "I'll be right back with your drinks."

Crowley had considered putting the fear of Hell into the girl. If they hadn't come here so his angel could eat he may have. Throwing his arm over the back of Aziraphale's chair, he leans close. Attempting to, without incident, indicate to the little trollop he was happily off the market. "Have I told you today how pretty you are?" Crowley purs.

"You have, but I don't mind hearing it again." Aziraphale grins.

When their server returns with their beverages, she sets Crowley's before him first. "Here we are, sir. Double espresso." Undeterred, when her words go acknowledge, she tries a different approach. "Can I just say you have the most gorgeous hair I have ever seen." Instead of a reply, the man seizes his cup and takes a gulp of the steaming coffee. "I didn't get your food order, sir. Would you like me to make some recommendations?"

"No." He says forcefully. 'Stick to your bloody job and bring my angel's breakfast so we can leave.'

"Is there anything I can get for you?" She tries again. The firebrand was apparently playing hard to get. 

"For the love of… does this really work for you?' "Not hungry." He sneers no longer trying to hide his annoyance.

"Let me know if you change your mind."

"Not bloody likely," Crowley grumbles into his cup as he takes another sip. If he had use of his powers, he might stop time and give the tart a personality adjustment.

She finally delivers the remaining drinks. The man's wife receiving her's last. Though she is thanked all the same. Regina pretends not to notice the look of disdain she receives from the tall women with strawberry blonde hair. Her girlfriend whispers something in her ear. 

Breakfast is brought a short time later. The generous portions handed out accordingly. Again Aziraphale obtaining his after their friends had all been served. He cuts a dainty bite. Giving a little satisfied moan of approval, as the fresh fruit, warm vanilla, and cool sweet cream harmonizing on his tongue.

Regina slinks around to the gentleman's side. Seeing his cup empty, she offers, "Can I get you another espresso?" Placing her hand once again on his shoulder.

"No." 'Perhaps I've been too subtle about this?' "Aziraphale?" He says, shrugging free from the incessant little floozy's grasp, leaning into his angel.

"Yes?" Aziraphale answers before eating another bite.

"Can I have a taste?" He purrs low and enticing.

Aziraphale cuts his husband a perfect morsel as he swallows his own. Holding up his fork in offering, "By all means. Here dar…" he is silenced by a hungry kiss. Heat rushes to his cheeks as he is sure the whole restaurant is watching. Crowley's tongue sweeping deliciously across his own.

He savours the soft moan he elicits from his angel. Grinning wickedly at hopefully clarifying for the dim human, with the bonus of surprising Aziraphale. Hearing her retreat, he gradually withdrawals. "Thanks. You were right, dove. Ssssscrumptioussss." He hisses.

Still, a bit dazed Aziraphale asks, "What was that all about?"

"Nothing at all," Crowley smirks, thumb caressing over flushed bottom lip.

Ysabel, wondering how the angel was unaware, interjects, "Our waitress has been flirting with your husband, Aziraphale."

"Oh?" Aziraphale says, looking to his friends. "The poor dear. I hope she wasn't terribly embarrassed. My love, are you sure you don't want a proper bite?" He once again offers Crowley the sample.

Peering over the rim of his glasses as he accepts the food, the accusation was evident in his serpentine stare. "Beautiful bastard."

Pleased with his husband's reaction, he coyly smiles, "Wily serpent." Crowley pulls him close, pressing a firm kiss to his cheek. Aziraphale giggles at the affectionate response.

When they finished, and the plates removed their waitress brings the check, placing it in front of Crowley. "Thank you all for dining with us." She says, giving the man one last lingering look before turning away.

"You as well Regina," Aziraphale calls out.

Regina looks back briefly at the wife, wondering just what the man found so appealing. She suddenly collides with someone. Hot porridge and eggs Benedict come crashing down upon her. Blouse soiled with sticky food. Embarrassed, and angry, she storms toward the kitchen. Cursing under her breath.

Everyone looks to Crowley. "Whot? Wasn't me." He exclaims in indignation. 

Aziraphale shakes his head, denying his complicity.

All eyes drift to Sera. "She was being rude." The Seraph admits her guilt, not ashamed in the least.

Jasmine Cottage  
10:00am

Both old and new Bentley pull in the drive of Jasmine cottage. Their witch was already out with her fiance chatting with the gaggle of children. Adam, in his excitement, was the first to greet them. 

"Hey, Mr Crowley! Hey, Aziraphale! Anathema told us you were coming. Made it so our school thinks we are all home sick. Pretty easy that. I am really glad you're awake. Pretty wicked what you did on New Years." Dog puts his paws up on Crowley's door, barking at his fellow Hellish acquaintance.

Aziraphale gives him an accusatory roll of sapphire eyes with a sharp tsk. 'I didn't reach em that. Kid thought that up all by himself.' "Claws off the car, mutt." He snarls down on the diminutive Hellhound. Dog skips away, planting his rear next to his master. Crowley exits the Bentley with his usual devil-may-care swagger. "Good to see you too, kid." 

"Hello, Adam." Aziraphale greets coming around to join them. "See I told you Crowley would make a full recovery. Which is all thanks to you."

Sera, Ysabel, and Temeluch join them. Adam waves to his three newest supernatural acquaintance with The Them coming up to flank him. "Hey Sera, Ms Ysabel, Mr….I am sorry, sir, I forgot your name."

"Tem-temeluch, " the slight angel provides. "It is very nice to see you again, Adam."

"Who are they?" Pepper asks, giving the two newcomers an appraising scowl.

"Sera is Mr Crowley's sister." Adam answers pointing at the taller of the two. "En, Temeluch is the angel of babies or something."

"P-pregnanc-cy, b-babies, and children." Temeluch corrects politely. The stern face of the young girl reminding him vaguely of Gabriel's many looks of disapproval. 

"So you're like...in charge of watching over us?" Brian asks with a cock of his head. The little angel didn't look much like a protector by his keen estimation.

"U-um...in-in a m-m-manner of speaking." Temeluch stammers, wishing someone would diversity the children's scrutiny away from his person.

"Crowley's sister?" Pepper asks of the tall woman on Anathema's mother's arm. The two siblings didn't look too similar, beyond vague descriptors. "You're a demon, then?" She accuses proudly. 

Ysabel had warned her of the sharp-tongued little girl. Still, she wasn't prepared for just how disarming the child was. "No. I am a Seraph." Sera smiles down on the self-assured inquisitor.

Brian squint's at the new bit of information. He wasn't as versed as Wensleydale in vocabulary. Nor had Adam's understanding of the metaphysical world. And he certainly didn't have Pepper's astute eye and brilliant wit. So Brian relies on tried and true method he utilizes in such perplexing situations. He asks, "Wha'sa seraph?"

"Literally translated it means the burning ones." Aziraphale educates the slovenly child.

"A demon." Pepper accuses again. 

"No." Aziraphale begins with a disapproving frown. "They are the highest order of angels. Charged with the endless worship of God." 

"Excuse me. If that is true why aren't you, you know, endlessly worshipping?" Wensleydale asks with a raised hand.

"God charged me with guarding my brother and his family," Sera interjects in her defence. Wondering if all human children asked so many questions.

"So if you're an angel, how are you related to a demon?" Pepper demands. Giving the siblings a terse glance. 

Sera looks to her brother. Who was studying the lawn intently. "He was an angel once." She says, hoping such conversations weren't offensive to him.

"Why do they call you the burning whoteva? You aren't on fire." Brian interjects.

"Well, my true form is different," Sera answers sweetly. Knowing a detailed explanation would be lost on even the most intelligent human mind.

"Can you show us? Your real form, that is." Adam brightens at the idea. Eager to see such a thing made manifest before them.

"Uh…" Sera groans is at a loss. Looking at the adults present, he emplores their counsel on the possibility. Most answering with an unsatisfactory shrug. 

"Oh, go on." Crowley sighs. "They won't leave you alone until you do." 'Can't hurt. Kids have already seen Lucifer rise from the Earth. Tough little shits.'

Sera looks at the little flock of expectantly waiting children. Stepping free of Ysabel's hold, she considers her options. Deciding that her full glory was probably not needed to answer their curiosity, she brings her wings into this world. Six ethereal appendages unfurl. Holy flames giving the phantom impression of feathers. 

The dazzled children all let out a unified "Woe." In a sudden flurry of excitement Sera is bombarded with a barrage of questions. 

Seeing an opportunity, Crowley rests a hand on the former Antichrist's shoulder. "Hey kid, can I talk to you for a bit."

"Sure, Mr Crowley." Adam agrees, turning to his friend. 

His husband looks to him as if to say he would be right back. Knowing Crowley's intention Aziraphale gives a reassuring smile, "I'll be with the others. You two take your time."

Crowley saunters over to the little bench, Adam in tow. He sits, legs consuming most of the available space. When they are both settled here lets out a loud sigh. 'How do you even begin to thank someone who saved your world? Twice.' "Listen, m'not good at this. But...oomph." Crowley unexpectedly has his arms full of child. Adam embracing him firmly in a lingering hug. 

"I am really glad you are okay," Adam says, before losing his friend.

"Me too, kid," Crowley says, inferring more than his recovery. "I want to thank you, Adam. For saving my family." 

"They needed my help." He says matter of factly. "Couldn't let Aziraphale die."

"Yeah, Just...thanks kid. I owe you a whole lot more th'n my life." Crowley says, hanging his head. 'If you hadn't been there. Sure glad the harlot didn't let Aziraphale kill you.'

"That's what friends do, Mr Crowley." Adam simply says. "And we are friends. Had to."

'You are definitely not Lucifer's son.' "We are, kid." Crowley agrees with a fond smile. 'Bloody kids. Don't ever change. I'd hate for you to turn into a miserable shit like everyone else.' "Just wanted to thank you, is all."

"Well, my friends want to talk to you. Wensleydale has a bunch of questions he wants to ask." Adam says, standing to invite his friend to return the commotion.

"Bet he does," Crowley answers with a flippant tone. "Alright, lead the way, kid."

Upon rejoining the group of youngsters, Aziraphale slips an arm around him. Allowing him to bury his nose in starlight curls. His angel leans against him, easing away the tension he hadn't realized took hold of his corporation. As expected, the little know-it-all was took note of him.

"Mr Crowley, did you, in fact, open a black hole in the middle of London?" Wensleydale asks, drawing everyone else's attention.

"Apparently," Crowley says, shifting his stance to hold his angel closer.

"Scientists have been…" Wensleydale begins, only to be cut off by Pepper.

"Don't you think that was highly irresponsible? What if you had killed someone?" She admonishes the demon curtly. 

"Doubt anyone would have noticed what with the legions of the Damned running around murdering people," Crowley says absently. Finding something interesting in the distance. 'Just when I was starting to like you.'

"All the same. You can't just go around opening black holes as you please. It's dangerous." Pepper scolds again. Eyes glaring her disapproval.

"Dangerous. Right. Take that into account the next time Evil incarnate rises from the Earth intent on killing everyone." Crowley snips at the absurd little human. 'Hope I never have to.'

"You know. I bet powers come in handy when tidying up. Wish I had powers. Mum's always going on about my room." Brian says confidently, ignoring the current topic of conversation.

"I've seen your room. It's atrocious." Pepper barks at the grubby boy. 

"Actually we were talking about black holes." Wensleydale tries to redirect the conversation.

"Brian's room is a black hole." Pepper jeers quickly.

Seeing an argument brewing Anathema pipes up, "Hey guys who want chocolate?"

Distracted momentarily by the promise of sweets, all of the kids agree in unison. Aziraphale too raising a hand hoping he might be included in the proffered chocolate.

Everyone heads inside. The company spending the afternoon catching up with all the happenings in each other's lives. The children having an opportunity to feel Alexandria move. Which brought on another flurry of questions fielded at both parents. It was a lovely afternoon. Filled with laughter and the bonds of family and friends.

They remained long after the children had retired to their respective homes for supper. Crowley offered to prepare their own meal. To which Anathema agreed to assist. Her demon was hiding something. His aura was changed. The usual indications of love and their connective bond still present. But the typical vibrant colours were muddied, denoting fears or an ailment Crowley was trying to hide.

"Do you feel...different?" She finally asks, chopping a carrot.

"Nope," Crowley answers shortly. Knowing their witch probably knew more than he would like. 'Stop poking about Bookgirl. Didn't ask for your help.'

"I know you're lying. Does Aziraphale know?" She asks, adding the vegetables to the stew. 

"No. And don't you breathe a word of it to my angel." He glares without any real threat. 'Aziraphale is under enough stress as is. Can't be good for either of them.'

"Don't you think your spouse has the right to know?" She returns his glare as a challenge.

"No." He sighs. 'Probably' turning to face their witch he rests a hip against the counter. 'Look, I don't want to worry Aziraphale."

Rolling her eyes, she takes up the spoon, giving the pot a good stir. "That is what couples do, you know. Worry about each other. Aziraphale is a lot stronger than you are giving them credit."

"I know my angel is strong. Strongest being I know. Puts up with my bullshit, don't they?" He sneers.

Smirking at him, she points her spoon at Crowley. "Oh...this is a toxic masculinity thing."

Growling his frustration, he grumbles, "No. I just…" he thinks of what reasoning he could give to make Anathema drop the topic. 'I don't want to be a...damn. Is this how Aziraphale feels?' He looks to his angel happily chatting with Newt about some nonsense. 'I could have lost you. Both of you. Why do you love me?'

She sees the sad way Crowley studies Aziraphale. There was guilt just beneath his callous demeanour. "Let me ask...who defeated Satan?"

"He's not defeated. Just...in a place there is no escape from." He mumbles mostly to himself. 'I hope.'

"Who imprisoned Satan then?" She asks in exasperation.

"M'not playing your games witch."

Ignoring his dismissal Anathema continues, "Because I saw it...one lone demon standing up for Earth. For his family. Put it all on the line. And won."

"M'not some hero." He sneers in irritation.

Huffing in disbelief, she does as she has often seen her demon do. She plants herself right in his personal space. Forcing the stubborn ass to look at her. "Couldn't tell Aziraphale that. I've heard the stories."

"Your point?" He growls.

"You almost died." You ass was left unsaid. "Let Aziraphale take care of you. I think they need it right now." She encourages softly.

"You some kinda shrink?" He quips half-heartedly. 'Probably right. Aziraphale isn't going to be happy. Tomorrow. I'll tell them tomorrow.' 

"No. Just observant." She smiles, recalling his jab from the day he woke. She glides from the room, leaving him to ponder her advice.

They have an excellent supper. Crowley appreciative Anathema didn't out him before he was ready. It was late by the time they thanked their hosts and headed for home. Aziraphale nestled snuggly into Crowley's side. It had been a long day. So when his angel's breathing grew shallow, he wasn't the least surprised. 

11:15  
The Cottage

Crowley lay in bed, trying to ignore the burning that slowly crept back into his essence. Sera had assisted him miracling his angel up into their nest upon arriving home to keep from waking Aziraphale. Unwilling to disrupt his family, he stares at their ceiling, trying to think of anything besides the pain. When at last, he can no longer remain still he slips from their nest. Staggering into their bathroom. 

He knew it was pointless, but it was something to do. Turning on the cold water, he lets the tub fill. After shedding his clothing, except his silver chain and the little medallion, he slips into the fridged liquid. Submerging, yearning for relief. Finding none. 'God, I know I said, do what you like with me. Is this it? Is this the cost of saving my family?'

It was a whisper in his essence, then slowly the burning ebbed. Slithering back into whatever recesses in which it hid. For a moment, he thought perhaps She had heard his silent question and given him relief. But when he heard his name, muffled by the water, he shoots up. Displacing the still surface, the contents of the tub splashing on the tiles below. Concerned blue gaze questioning him. "Angel!" He shouts in alarm at being discovered.

"Crowley, what the Hell are you doing?"

"I er…" 'shit.'

Aziraphale sits on the edge of the tub, watching his husband try and come up with an explanation for his peculiar behaviour. "Dearest, there is something wrong. I know there is. Please, whatever it is I want to help."

"Angel…" 'I should tell you. Anathema was right. Shit.'

'Please talk to me. We are married for Heaven's sake.' "If I was keeping this from you, how would you like it?"

"Fine. Feels like I am on fire. Has since I woke up. Well...only when you are upset or sleeping. Most of the time, you somehow manage to mask it or...I dunno... make it go away. Seems you're pretty potent medicine." He tries for levity to mitigate any worry he may have caused. 

"You mean…" Aziraphale's brow furrows with concern. "You mean to tell me you have been suffering this entire time...and you…you..." 'I knew you weren't alright. We should have gone to God straight away. We should have…' Aziraphale feels panic begin to set it. 'You're in pain, and you kept it from me.'

His angel was staring, unblinking at him. Chest heaving like a human desperate for air. 'This is why I didn't say anything.c "Aziraphale…" he reaches to comfort his angel. 

Feeling his husband cold, wet hand touch his own, he stands abruptly. "No!" He scolds. 'Don't you dare placate me.' "You can't keep things from me, Crowley. I…" 'I should speak with God. Right now.' Aziraphale marches from their bathroom without another word. 

"Dove!" Crowley calls out, scrambling from their tub. Stepping into their bedroom, dripping, he sees Aziraphale already dressed. Pulling on the heavy creme coat. "Aziraphale...are you leaving?" He asks fearing his angel could leave him. 'Please don't leave.'

Pulling on his tartan scarf, Aziraphale answers cooly, "If you are coming with me you best dress quickly."

"Where are you going?" He hurries back to their bathroom, grabbing up his clothing.

"I am going to do what we should have done days ago," Aziraphale says, heading for the door.

"You're going to head office?" Crowley questions, struggling into his leathers. Cursing his inconvenient fashion choices.

"Yes," Aziraphale says, turning the knob to leave. "Alone if I must."

'Alone?' "Were you planning to walk the whole way?" Crowley can help but point out the flaw in his angel's words.

"No." Aziraphale frowns. 'You aren't the only one here with a car.' "SERA!" He shouts into the silence of their home.

There is a loud thud, and the sound of feet pounding against the floor. Sera pops into the hall fearing the worst. "Yes!" She answers in a panic.

"Get your keys. We are going to London." Aziraphale commands of their guardian. Marching for the stairs.

"Angel!" Crowley calls out buttoning his pants. Aziraphale didn't answer. "Dove!" Snatching up his shirt and boots, he rushes from the room. Taking the stairs two at a time, "Aziraphale!" He skids around the bannister, losing traction on the floor, momentarily before finding his footing. He runs over, placing himself between his angel and the garage door. "Will you hold on for a bloody moment?" He pants desperately. "Please don't be mad." 

"I am not mad. I am very upset." Aziraphale says, pushing past his husband. Opening the door, glaring at Crowley to step aside. He does, serpent eyes pleading with him. 'I will find a way to fix you. Then you and I are having a long conversation about all this.'

His angel walks into their garage. Though the burning hadn't returned, he knew Aziraphale well enough to know when his angel was angry. Sera, having thrown on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans hurries past him. Crowley glares at his sister, pointing a commanding finger. "Sera you don't leave this house without me."

"Uhhh…" Looking between her loved ones, she isn't sure what to do. 

A few moments later, they were all in the Bentley. Crowley behind the wheel, Aziraphale glaring out the passenger window, and Sera uncomfortably riding in silence in the back. The air heavy with tension as they traversed the roads nearly devoid of traffic. 

'Alright. Should have said something. Whot to do? Apologise. Easy. "I'm sorry, dove." He says tenderly. Aziraphale glances at him but makes no comment. "Angel, please. I am really sorry."

"I love you…" Aziraphale begins.

"I love you too," Crowley says in haste.

"I wasn't finished." Aziraphale snips. "I love you and I if I am to agree with your promise, you have to agree to mine." 

"Fair." Crowley chews at his cheek, hoping for reasonable terms.

"From this moment forward, you will tell me if there is anything wrong. You will not keep things from me. And you will let me help you." Aziraphale states sharply. 'Don't you dare refuse. It is the least you can do.'

'That's all? Yeah no. I can do that. But what of helping puts you in harm's way?' "Unless that last bit breaks your promise." He negotiates.

'God give me strength.' "Crowley." He glares at his husband in annoyance.

"I promise." He answers finally. Not wanting to tax his angel's patience any further. After a brief pause, he feels a soft hand take his that rests on the gearshift. Aziraphale's features softening. No longer stern and focused. He laces their fingers together. 'I am such an arse. Fucking should have told you.' His hand is drawn into his angel's lap. Delicate fingers tracing over his knuckles. "Can'ni say it now?" He asks, caressing his angel's thumb. 

"Say what?" Aziraphale asks softly.

"How much I love you." 

"I know you do." Aziraphale pats his husband's hand. 'I only wish to help you. How you always help me.' 

"Can I kiss you?" He asks with a playful pout.

"When we get there. Keep your eyes on the road, please." 

1:56 am  
Heaven

Like always, Heaven did not show any indication of the late hour just beyond the main entrance. Glaringly bright, appearing midday from the expansive surreal views. Aziraphale was on a mission. One he was determined to see to it's full and definitive completion. Walking hand in hand, they make their way to The Metatron's office. 

"Archangel Aziraphale. To what do I owe the pleasure." The stoic angel asks at the interruption, very little pleasure in his tone.

"We need to speak with God. Immediately." Aziraphale demands, standing with an air of authority.

"As you know…" The elderly presenting angel begins.

Waving off what he was sure to be a refusal Aziraphale hastily interrupts, "Yes, yes, you have your job, but I report only to God. I am here to speak with Her. So if you will be so kind as to inform her Her I urgently need to speak with Her, then we can both be out of each other's hair."

A silvery brow raised in surprise at the former Principality's terse words. Few had the nerve to barge into his office without summons. Much less speak to him in such a manner. He eyed the demon with suspicion before remembering God's formal mandate. "Very well. Wait here." The Metatron makes to do as bid when She appears, in miraculous fashion, before them. Divine radiance filling the room.

"Blessed Aziraphale. How can I help you?" She asks gliding past the Metatron to her favoured children.

Her presence was disarming, hypnotic in a way. His earlier anxieties fading into a tranquil haze. It was like flying on a warm updraft. High about the woes of the world below. Trying to remember why he stood before her, he feels his husband's hand tighten on his own. "I was hoping, my Lord, You could tell me how I might help Crowley. As I am sure, you are aware my husband was seriously injured during Lucifer's attack."

"I am aware." She says softly. Her heavy gaze fell on Crowley. Her former Seraph's head hung low, unwilling to look upon Her. "Samael asked for my assistance. I gave him the power needed to protect you and Etzbael."

"We are very grateful, my Lord. But…" Aziraphale turns to his mate. Seeing how frail his beautiful husband looked at his side. 'She loves you. Blessed us. She has to care.' "You see, Crowley is in quite a great deal of pain. And we are not sure what to do about it."

Stepping forward, She places a hand on her son's cheek. Serpent eyes sealed tightly, brow furrowed at the tender touch. "Your essence is at war with my gift. You are Fallen Samael, and lucky to be alive."

'Please stop calling me that.' Though he could not see Her, he could feel her affection in every word. Knew from haunting memories how it felt to have her look fondly upon him. It was worse than the burning in its own way. Love laced with poison of his making. Shifting away, he mumbles, "I know."

"Is…is there a way to fix it? Put things right?" Aziraphale asks timidly. 'You are God. Surely can fix anything.'

"There is, but that would require Samael fulfilling his end of our bargain."

'Our bargain.' Dark memories of his Fall rise in his mind. Everything he had known, lost in an instant. Pain, fear, and anger replacing Her love. His frantic search for one who would save him. Ending with the brother he tried to save, breaking him as only an eternal being can be broken. This new burning was nothing compared to that.

"So, we just have to find a demon who is willing to repent?" Aziraphale asks with renewed hope.

"That was the bargain he agreed upon, yes."

He could hear his angel speaking, and Her reply. Though he was within an arm's length, they sounded distant. As if he were listening to a conversation through a closed door. He tried to make sense of it through the screams of anguish ringing in his ear. Lucifer's voice drowning them all in a sickening laugh.

"Any demon?"

"Yes, Aziraphale."

"Dove." Crowley reaches for his angel. Handshaking as he felt the subtle textured wool of Aziraphale's coat. A soft hand takes his, pulling him close. Warmth seeps into his clammy skin, drawing him slowly back to the present.

There was something desperate in his husband's voice. When Crowley's hand touched his arm, he knew something was wrong. Peering over his shoulder, his fears are confirmed. Crowley is trembling, jaw firmly set, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. "Thank you, my Lord," Aziraphale says quickly. "We would love to stay and chat, but we must be popping along. Demon to search for. Have a lovely day… evening…" 'I am going to get you to your car. Hold on, my love. What was it you said helps? Happy. I have to be happy.' He focuses on all the beautiful moments of their life together. His husband smiling warmly down on him. Feeling their Alexandria kick. Dancing beneath the stars. Their lazy mornings in bed. All in an attempt to ease Crowley's obvious pain.

"You are welcome. Good luck, Samael." God says as the pair turn towards the door.

Warmth pours into him. Giving him a point of focus. By the time they step into the elevator, he can once again feel his corporation. "Angel." He manages to say feebly.

"I'm here, dearest." Aziraphale tries to reassure his husband. "Nearly there." 'Our friends, the nursery, watching you in the greenhouse, dove.' He guides them from the elevator and out into the night.

Sera sees them. Her brother gravely pale on Aziraphale's arm. Something terrible had happened. She cursed herself for allowing Crowley to convince her to stay behind. She starts to go to them. Only halted by her friend's request.

"Sera the door, if you please."

She opens the driver's side door just as they reach the Bentley. Assisting her friend with easing Crowley onto the seat. Gold fills to the corners of his wide, terrified eyes.

Cupping his husband's cheeks, he raises Crowley's chin to look at him. "Tell me what you need."

His angel's warmth assuages most of the thoughts that plagued him. Enough so he could meet worried sapphires. "M'fine. Just…" 'I can't go through it again. I can't.' He rests his aching head against his angel's belly. Grounding him to the present.

"We can fix this Crowley. Find this demon and fix this." Aziraphale assures, caressing his husband's crimson hair. 'I will help. Somehow.'

His angel's words stir his fears back to the surface. "Dove." He whispers. Needing his angel to stop with the false hope.

"God said we only need one demon." He continues. 'Ten million. There has to be one among them. Surely.'

"Angel, please..." He begs. His essence remembering the sulfur, chains, and Lucifer's cruel hand.

"We will just have to contact Beelzebub and entreat them for assistance. Yes. They won't miss one demon." Aziraphale says with optimism. 'You saved their life. They can not refuse to help.'

Unconsciously Crowley's hands tighten on his angel's arms. "Aziraphale STOP!" He yells past his own screams of agony which claw at his mind.

'Stop? You promised.' "Crowley, my love, let me help you. We can do this together. You will be forgiven and…and…" He is startled silent by the bitterness in his husband's eyes.

"It is hopeless, Aziraphale!" He snarls up at Aziraphale. The fear that started down on him cools his frustration. 'I know you are just trying to help. But there is nothing do be done.' "It's hopeless."

"I refuse to believe that." Says breathless at the thought of his husband accepting this fate.

He rises, his angel forced to step back to allow him to do so. "Don't you think I tried?" He asks with rancour. "This is my punishment." He remembers calling for Her. Begging for Her salvation. Begging to be sheltered from the pain. He remembers the silence and the seed of hatred taking root. Finally understanding he was abandoned. Abandoned to all the torments of Hell. "I told you! I'm unforgivable! I'm never going to find a demon who wants anything to do with Her forgiveness! An impossible task from God she knows I can never achieve. Just enough hope to ngksgk…" he snarls in frustration. Hand dramatically waving between them. "SCREW with my Damned mind. I'm never going to be forgiven. Not ever!"

"There has to be one!" Aziraphale shrieks, grabbing the lapels of Crowley's jacket. Voice raising an active, "We only need one! We can fix this. Then you can be an angel again. And it will all be okay." He tries to console his frantic husband.

'Okay? It's never going to be okay.' Crowley takes his angel by the biceps. Glaring his frustrations. "When are you going to learn? Hm? When are you going to learn that She doesn't give a FUCK about us? Moving us about like pieces on a chessboard. All for some sick cosmic game She's cooked up!" He releases Aziraphale, walking to the boot of the Bentley.

"Crowley you know that is not true. She loves you. She has said so Herself. Why else would God give us this blessing, if not for the love She has for you?" Aziraphale tries desperately to help his husband see reason.

He turns, striding up to Aziraphale. "Oh yeah blessed you, did She? Forced you into this form." He gestures to his angel's feminine expression. 'I know you don't like it.' "Made you carry a SODDING DEMON'S BABY!" He shouts at the dark office building. Voice echoing through the silent streets. Rage boiling within him as he remembers calling to Her. Pleading for Her deliverance. The moment he broke and begged on his knees to be a good demon. The first tempter of mankind. The snake in the grass lying in wait to bring her chosen favoured children low. He paced, each stride fueled by his ire. Fingers harshly combing through his hair. 'I did this. Should have kept my mouth shut. Should have done what the others did. Turn a blind eye and pretend it was right. She was right. About Lucifer. About the others. About me.' He rushes up to his angel, faces a breath apart. Features harsh, jaw thrust forward as he questions his angel, sneering his raw contempt, "What kind of father do you think a demon would make? What twisted God gives a demon a child?" Scoffing at the absurdity of the idea he continues, "Didn't even ask you if you wanted any of it. Did She? But oh, good little Aziraphale just accepts God in all Her IN-FUCKING-EFFABILITY!" Again he shouts to their Mother. Body tensing, first clenched as he rails his frustration. He pauses, turning back to his angel. Who refused to meet his heated, fully serpent gaze. "Being bound to a snake for all eternity, how's that been working for you?" He asks sardonically. 'Nearly destroyed three times. Had to face down Hell all because of me. Twice. You should have never fallen in love with me.' Again he steps closer, forcing his angel to face him. "Promising you happiness, then, then, lets her creations try and take everything from you. Threat of destruction at every turn. All because you love a Fallen, Aziraphale! Sounds like just another of her warped punishments if you ask me." He walks stalks away. Glaring at the wet blacktop. 'You deserve so much more than I can give you. Both of you do.'

His husband's tirade had ceased. Aziraphale stood in stunned silence for a long moment. Tears threatening to fall were willed back. Crowley paced before him, glancing up to Head Office with every about-face. Appearing like a man itching for a row. "How…" 'dare you. How dare you think such things. About our baby. About yourself. This is not you. I have seen you with our child. They are not a punishment.' Aziraphale squares his shoulders, chin jutted up, poised and stern. "I want them, Crowley." He begins, voice level and soft. "With all that I am, I want our child. And there is nobody else I could ever want to have them with. Even if you do think so little of yourself." He scolds the last, looking over his offending husband. "So if I am being punished, as you say, then I will gladly thank Her for it."

His angel's words cut through his bitter thoughts like a flaming sword. He stops his incessant pacing to look at his family. Aziraphale's expression was cold, a protective hand resting over the swell of belly. Cruel words that he absently let fall from his lips knot in his chest. 'Shit. What have I done?' "Aziraphale." He reaches out, only to have his angel step out of reach. 'Please don't leave.'

"No! I am ending this conversation before you dig yourself a greater hole." Aziraphale rebuke's his husband's attempt to placate him.

"I didn't mean…" Crowley tries for an apology, only to be sharply cut off.

"Crowley I am going for a walk. A very very long walk to clear my head." Aziraphale informs his husband, turning away.

'No. Don't leave. Let me fix this.' Crowley takes a step towards his angel, hand desperately reaching out. "You can't just…"

Aziraphale whirls on his husband. Blue eyes wide with indignation. "Do not presume to tell me what I can't do Anthony J Crowley." Making to leave again he hears the despair in his husband's voice.

"Aziraphale I am sorry." He struggles to say through the fear of losing his family. 'Please don't go.'

Crowley's pitiable state tempers his anger. Stopping, he turns to look back. His husband looked scared, a small child lost amidst a sea of grief. "I know you are. And I know you didn't mean any of what you said." He acknowledges. Part of him wants to comfort his mate. The other wanting to shout some sense into him. "I just...You have hurt me, Crowley. Very deeply."

Falling to his knees, arms outstretched, he begs his angel, "I didn't mean to, dove. Please. Please, Let me fix this. We can...I can..." His chest rises and falls harshly trying to think of a suitable way to make amends for his abhorrent actions.

Unable to see his husband in such a state and maintain his resolve Aziraphale averts his eyes. "I love you, Crowley. But you can not fix everything with honeyed words and grand gestures. Right now, I need to be alone." He walks, feet and heart heavy as he leaves his husband kneeling in the street. 'I will return to you.'

"I love you. Both of you." He calls out, voice wretched with grief. The thought of losing his family compounding his self-hatred.

Aziraphale stops again but does not look back. "Crowley, for the sake of your love for our child and me don't you ever insinuate they are unwanted or a punishment ever again."

Aziraphale was thankful for the emptiness of the early morning streets. Thankful his husband did not follow. And most thankful their child was not physically present for their quarrel. 'It is for the best. This will give us both a chance to calm down. He loves you, Alexandria. Never doubt that. Your father was not himself.' His feet carried him along the sidewalks of London, though his heart remained with Crowley.

Crowley watched his family disappear, continued to watch long after Aziraphale vanished from sight. Breath caught in his chest. Mind at a loss for what to do. It wasn't the pain of the burning that brought him to tears. It was the loss of his angel's warm and love that retreated with them. His body slumps in defeat. The burning inconsequential to him now. 'Please come back to me.'

Having born witness to the horrid display Sera stands sheepishly beside the old car. Her corporation's heart aching for both her brother and his mate. Confused as to what caused Crowley to behave as he did. She wanted to comfort him, assure him hope was not lost. Stepping nearer she whispers, "Brother?"

'Unforgivable. Demon. Damned monster.' He knew what he must do. The consequences no longer mattered. "Sera can you follow my angel? Keep out of sight?" He asks flatly of his sister. His essence hollowed.

Sera comes to his side. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, "I will watch over your family brother."

He nods his acknowledgement. Refusing to cry in his bottomless grief. His sister leaves him, trotting after his angel. 'I will fix this.' Fishing in his pocket, he withdrawals his phone. Their picture of their first ultrasound glowing up at him. Crowley taps at an app. Drawing his sliver necklace from his shirt. The pendant their witch gave him jingles as it glides over the chain. He holds his phone's camera over the charm. Their baby's heartbeat instantly emanating from the speakers. He closes his hand, metal biting into his skin. 'I am sorry.' 

He didn't need to dial, not for this. Bringing the device to his ear, he waits. Two short rings later a voice answers. Swallowing past his fear, he speaks, "Lord Beelzebub."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you guys are ready for something a bit more light hearted. Especially right now. We are getting there. I promise.


	39. You Are Forgiven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven, Hell, and a new take on smut.

16 January 2020  
7:21 am  
St James Park

As the first light of dawn bled over the horizon, a lone angel sat on a bench in St James Park. Gaze transfixed on the dark waters rippling from the brisk breeze that dances across the surface. Perhaps by miraculous intervention, no humans disturbed his solitude, as he thought on his husband's plight. Heart and corporation weary after his the feet carried him to their park.

Their little one had been restless nearly the whole journey. Now that he was seated they had fallen still. Sleeping, he hopes. Not listening to his every thought as he feared they might be able to do. He idly turns the little serpent on his finger. Watching the scales glitter up at him. 'He didn't mean any of it. Not truly. My beautiful husband. How can I make you see?'

He felt eye watching him, had for some time. Knowing who they belong to without needing to see her. 'You would have made a worse spy than me, dear girl.' "It's alright Sera." He calls out to his guardian. "You may come sit with me. You are only doing your duty."

Sera steps from behind a tree. Tentatively walking over to her friend. She sits as suggested, not knowing what to do otherwise. "I am here because Crowley asked me to watch over you."

"I know," Aziraphale says softly. Eyes still studying the scene before him.

Her friend appeared emotionless. She had seen Aziraphale angry, scared, weeping miserably, and happy beyond measure. But this blank expression felt so reprehensibly wrong it made her corporation's skin crawl. She wanted to comfort them. Say something to make it somehow better. The truth seemed at least worth a try. "Aziraphale, he loves you." She says finally.

"I know that too." Aziraphale sighs, feeling the little ruby beneath his thumb. "Loving each other was never our shortcoming." He smiles wistfully at their long history together. "6,000 years of knowing someone. Bound to have our ups and downs." 'And we have come through them all.' "I know he loves our child. You should see them together. He is such a wonderful father. Even if he can't see it."

"I hope to one day," Sera says, fearing such a thing may not be possible.

He heard the uncertainty in her voice. Sera's solemn gaze made him tsk. "Oh, you needn't worry. I am not leaving Crowley. He can be challenging at times. Let me tell you. But so can I. There is so much beauty in him, and he doesn't even see it." He looks back to his ring. Frowning, remembering his husband's cruel words towards himself. 'I wish I could make you understand how loved you are.'

"He's so angry," Sera whispers, fighting back tears.

'No. He's hurt. Deeply hurt.' "I probably would be too if I had suffered what he has," Aziraphale says, feeling a chill run through his corporation. He tugs his cream coat more securely around himself.

"Is he right? Is it an impossible task?" She asks, hoping God was not capable of such heinous machinations.

"About as impossible as averting the Apocalypse, I assume. Or a lone demon defeating Lucifer. We excel at the impossible it would seem. Don't we Alexandria?" He addresses their child in his belly. Feeling them ostensibly answer with a sharp tap. "We'll figure it out. We always do." His brow furrows again. Mind lost to the multitude of possibilities with which he might help Crowley.

"Can I do anything? For you." Sera asks scooting closer. She wanted to hug her friend, but only by invitation.

"No, dear girl. I'll be fine." Aziraphale smiles, giving her hand a pat. 'I'm sure Crowley has had time enough to calm down. Lord, how I miss him already.' Aziraphale stands, Sera following suit. He offers his arm to the Seraph, "We should probably be heading back." Sera takes his arm, and the two angels leave the quiet park.

Their return trip takes far less time. When one knows their destination, it often does. Aziraphale takes the shortest route back to Head Office. London was alive and bustling with life as they round their last turn. Humans all unknowing that among them two angels walked arm in arm.

The Bentley was were they had left it. Gleaming in the morning light. Aziraphale felt his corporations heart skip with anticipation of seeing his husband. He wanted desperately to be held close and remind Crowley, despite all their troubles, his love for him would never diminish.

Lost in the what if's of their reunion he feels Sera come to a stop. He looks to his friend to see what has given her pause. "Sera?"

Scanning the area Sera searches for her sibling. "Where is he?" She could not see a silhouette in the old car, nor was he hidden amongst the passing humans. Fear gripped her essence as she sought what was not to be found.

Hearing the question, Aziraphale turns back to the antique. 'He wouldn't just leave his car.' Aziraphale releases Sera's arm and rushes to the Bentley. Peering through the windows only confirming husband was indeed not within. He too searches their surroundings. Most of the shops still shuttered for business. A pang of dread causes him to turn towards the imposing office building. 'What have I done?' "Sera…" Aziraphale shrieks staring at the one place he hoped his husband had sense enough not to go.

Seeing her friend's panic Sera follows their gaze to the glass-front building. She too comes to the same sickening conclusion. Fumbling with her phone, she tries to assure Aziraphale, "I'll call him. He is around here. He has to be." The call goes directly to voicemail.

"This is Anthony J Crowley. You know what to do, so do it with style."

"He's not answering." She calls again. Still, her brother does not respond. She paces the sidewalk. Fearing her brother's reckless nature has finally put him in grave peril. "Maybe he just went for a walk too?" She hypothesised desperate for any alternative. Looking up from the screen, she sees her friend's eyes reflecting her own panic.

Hell

Crowley knew what Hell was. A great swarm of demons all striving to be scarier, meaner, and more powerful than the next. All out for their own advancement, no matter the cost. It was also their greatest weakness. Power and hate is all they understood. All the better for him. And if nothing else defeating Lucifer was the biggest power play of all time. It was the ace up his sleeve. He only hopes Hell and all its inhabitants didn't feel up to testing his abilities as they now stand.

The lift ride down was torturous. The memories of his last attempt is far too real in his mind's eye. He was thankful for the burning that returned slowly as his angel disappeared. It kept him anchored to the present, focused on his mission.

Beelzebub had been more amenable than expected. Part of him feared they might have ulterior motives. Slaying the demon who defeated Lucifer would solidify their reign. It was a gamble. One he had little choice but to make.

As the elevator doors open, and the demons milling about in the decrepit hall caught sight of who was within, a hush falls over Hell. Several scatter, fleeing in every direction. Others stand, unmoving, waiting for what Crowley would do.

"Hi," Crowley says in a low growl. Forcing every ounce of malice he could into the simple word.

The hall of demons disappears like scuttling vermin. Fear thick in the air as Crowley steps from the lift. Dawning his cavalier facade and distinctive gate, he walks into Hell. A few demons brave or stupid enough to linger whisper from the shelter of the shadows. Crowley can't help but smirk at the tales they have spun about that night. Some nearly accurate; others a gross exaggeration. Making him out to be some brutal monster ready to destroy them all. His angel's actions attributed to him as well. 'That's right Hell's very own boogie man, me.'

He rounds a corner coming face to face with Hastur. 'Shit what the Hell do you want?' "Hastur!" he greets the hideous, excrement reeking demon as if they were old friends. "How'v you been?"

"Traitor. Murderer." Hastur accuses with disgust, obstructing his path.

"Am I now? Some other time Hastur. I have a date with your boss." Crowley says dismissively trying to push past the Duke. Only to have Hastur echo his movement.

"I don't know how you did it. But when I find out, I am coming for you, Crowley." Hastur snarls the threat. Inky eyes glaring his contempt.

"Careful who you threaten Duke Hastur. Hate for you end up like Lucifer. Or your pal Ligur." Crowley sneers his own threat. Hastur was a coward, stupid, but a coward all the same when it counted. Seeing the Duke's resolve fade, Crowley steps around.

"You will pay for this Crowley!" Hastur shouts to Crowley's back.

"Ciao!" He retorts. Sauntering all the more, just to emphasis how little he feared the rotten toad. 'If all goes to plan, you will never see me again. And if you dare come after my family, I'll be sure to give Lucifer some company.'

His palms were clammy with the strain of feigning there was nothing amiss by the time he reaches Beelzebub's office. Without so much as a knock, he enters. The Lord of Flies sitting arrogantly in their throne of bones, feet resting on another demon's back. Crowley meant to ignore the miserable wretch. That was before he recognised just who this footstool was.

"Well, how the mighty have Fallen." He sneers down at the bound and gagged demon who conspired to kill his family. "How's reigning in Hell going for you, Gabriel?" 'Killing really isn't my thing. But after that shit you pulled with Michael, I'd make an exception for the likes of you.' Crowley bows, serpent eyes filled with hate only one of his kind could genuinely comprehend. "You better be glad Beelzebub issss you masssster." He hisses menacingly, looming over the vile beast, removing his glasses so he can look directly into violet eyes. Though the colour still remained, the scleras are black as polished onyx. The burning, in his essence, was an excruciating fuel for his rage. "For what you tried to do to my angel I could think of a lot more fitting punishmentssss."

The former Archangel attempts to lunge at him. Crowley narrowly evading shackled hands, reaching for his throat. Without so much as a warning, Gabriel is yoked back by the heavy collar around his neck. Landing once again at Beelzebub's feet with a groan of pain. He might feel bad for any other creature unfortunate enough to displease his former choirmate. But not this one.

"Did I tell you you could move, you pug-ugly shite?" Beelzebub spats at their thrall. From the corner of the dim room came the muffled cry of a mangy looking peacock. It too bound, beak and all. "You shut it too, bird. Before I turn you into a feather duster." Their annoyed gaze fell on Crowley once their pets had come to heel. "Crowley."

"Beelzebub." Crowley nods. "See you've settled in nicely."

Hell's new sovereign leans forward. Heel biting harshly into Gabriel's chest as they do. "I am permitting this to be rid of you Crowley. Nothing more."

"S'all I want. One demon and I am gone. Then you can get on with torturing your furniture there." He says, dismissively gesturing at the once-proud angel. 'Just not that one. I'd live the rest of eternity like this before I see him forgiven.' It was marginally satisfying seeing Gabriel in this state at least. His formerly pristine suit was now filthy beyond any able dry cleaner's help. It was tattered and frayed at the edges. One sleeve completely ripped open at the shoulder. Wrists rubbed raw by the iron restraints. 'What I would give for Aziraphale to see you like this.'

"Let'zzz get thizzz over with." They buzz bitterly, using their footing on Gabriel's sternum to leverage themselves out of their seat. When they stood before Crowley they gave the chain they held a forceful tug. Compelling Gabriel to stumble to his feet. "Up maggot."

Gabriel had no choice but to obey. He falls in step behind the diminutive demon. Manacles around his ankled clinking with each step as they traverse the maze of corridors and squalid offices. The came to an unassuming door at the end of an equally unassuming hall. Beelzebub gives Crowley one last infuriated grimace as they push into the real horror beyond.

An enormous amphitheatre opens before them. Demons of all description watching in eerie silence as they enter. All having been ordered here by the thirteen figures seated in a position denoting their status. Past the mouldering walls, firey pits stretch as far as the eye can see. The air an impossibly hot furnace of brimstone fumes. In the distance cries a chorus of anguish Crowley hoped never to hear again.

'Fuck.' This was the part of Hell Crowley hated the most. Where the semblance of chaotic order gave way to the true meaning of damnation. The tenuous grasp he still held of his resolve was quickly failing. 'Just one. I only need one.'

Beelzebub leads them to the centre of the circus; Gabriel dragged along at their pleasure. Crowley glanced at the thirteen shrouded figures of The Dark Council. Their faces obscured by their hooded cloaks. He knew their names; they all did. Such vain beings made sure if it.

Most of them were reasonable when left to their own devices, and their minions did their bidding. Asmodeus and Beleth were more interested in pleasure than torment, most of the time. Belial, Baal, Purson, and Zagan enjoyed their petty mind games. Twisting supposed gifts to humans and demons alike to enslave them to their will. Belphegor couldn't be bothered to do much of anything these days. Crowley was surprised he even agreed to make an appearance at all.

Nergal and Mammon had been Beelzebub's little cronies even before the Fall. Eager to please Lucifer's second in command. Now that Old Scratch was gone they were at the top of the new pecking order no doubt.

Paimon, on the other hand, was the most loyal to Lucifer. They now sat in the farthest from Beelzebub's throne. Probably for good reason. The two hated each other, though Paimon knew their place. The former Cherub still retained some of their beauty and wasn't interested in having Beelzubub sully it for a hopeless cause.

Abbadon cared for no one. The overseer of the Abyss held no allegiance to anyone but themselves. Crowley had met them only once, and that had been one too many times for his liking. A foul corpse infested with locusts. With a personality to match. They ruled their domain with an open fist. Crowley guessed the change of power made little difference to them.

The last, but by far the cruellest was Pythius. He was beastly in form. When Crowley was at Lucifer's mercy, he had taken great pleasure assisting his lord. Each time his choirmate ran out of ideas on how to break his faith, Pythius was prepared with fresh torments. He gorged on the suffering of others. Saw his work as an art. And he was exceptionally skilled at his craft. Above all the rest, this was the demon Crowley dare not turn his back on.

"Lizzzzen up," Beelzebub calls out to the horde. "The demon Crowley hazzz a question for you lot. The sooner he getzzz an anzzzwer, the sooner we can all get back to work." Their voice carries over their Hellish audience. All, save for The Dark Council, talk in hushed whispers amongst themselves. Eyeing the demon that dared first to defy then vanquish their great Lord.

Crowley steels his nerves. Fist clenched painfully tight as he fights past the burning. The Dark Council watching him surely watching his every move. Sinister eyes boring into his essence. The burning the only thing keeping him from giving up and leaving this nightmare. "I need one of you." He announces. "Just one." Crowley holds up a slender finger. Golden eyes scan their grotesque faces. "Who will be willing to repent to God and be forgiven. God has assured me that whichever of you stands before Her and genuinely asks for forgiveness will have it. You will be restored to your angelic form."

A harsh laugh echos off the old stones. Crowley turns to see Paimon as the source. "You expect us to believe you, traitor? This is a trick. And a poorly devised one at that." They denounce him, causing the mob to bust into chaotic chatter.

"Did you not learn your lesson long ago, Crawly? Perhaps you need me to remind you " Comes the guttural voice of Pythius. His canid, like teeth snarling a hungry grin.

Given the chance, Crowley knew the twisted monster would gladly pick up where he had left off. And at the moment he was in no position to defend himself. Old instincts were willed into submission. 'I only need one. Just give me one.' He knew if he shows weakness now the entirety of Hell would be upon him.

"SILENZZZZE!" Beelzebub shouts, calling all to order. They glare at Crowley to get on with it.

"If there is one among you willing to repent I charge you to come forward." Again demons whisper to one another though none answer the call.

Crowley felt despair begin to gnaw at his insides. It was exactly as before, be it more efficient. 'I just need one.' Silence fell over the amphitheatre. Several demons gasp in horror before parting like the nifty little trick Noah performed. A lone little demon's hand was nervously raised in the air. As if asking to speak.

"Disposable?" Grouses Beelzebub.

"It's Eric." He corrects timidly. The young demon rises looking anxiously at his peers on either side. Half expecting them to attack.

'Of course. The little shit from the garden.' "You'd want to follow me to Heaven and get God's forgiveness?" He asks, hands on his hips, giving the insufficient disposable a questioning scowl.

Eric smiles nervously as he walks to the arena. "Absolutely Master Crowley. Didn't think She'd ever go for forgiving us." He gives Beelzebub an apologetic look. "Sorry boss. I really hate it here." Beelzebub makes no response besides a roll of their eyes. Encouraged he isn't slated for any reprisal he turns back to Crowley, "When can we leave, then?"

Stunned with surprise Crowley momentary loses all ability to think. "Um...Yeah sure.... Now's good." He says eloquently.

"No great loss. He is but one of many." Nergal chimes in, caressing his raven's ebon feathers. As Beelzebub's spymaster, Crowley guessed he already knew this outcome before it happened.

"Every demon lost is a gain for Heaven Nergal. If they succeed do you think they will be the last?" Snarls Pythius. A centipede wriggle's free from his maw to slither into a vacant eye socket.

"I'll just get my things, then," Eric says fearfully, before bowing to leave. He too wanted to put as much distance between him and the depraved member of the Dark Council as possible.

"Dizzzmizzzed," Beelzebub announces before anyone else could protest. The Dark Council all disappear to their respective spheres. As instructed, the herd of demons shamble from the theatre. None in any hurry to return to work.

Now, mostly alone Crowley turns to his former choirmate. 'Never thought I would bloody say this.' "Thanks, Beelzebub."

"Shut it, Crowley.' They snap angered by his gratitude. "We are even." They tug at Gabriel's leash, storming for the exit.

'Even. Suppose we are.' "Could still be you, ya know." Crowley offers.

Beelzebub pauses, though doesn't look back. "Never wanted Her forgivenezzz." They say calmly. Their words may deny it, but their tone said otherwise.

"Well, after today, roads open." Crowley reminds them. An idea springs into his mind. "Bee one last thing."

Heaven

Crowley and Eric stand before the Metatron. The unimpassioned angel, interrupted for the second time in as many hours sighs his frustrations. "Back so soon? And without Archangel Aziraphale I see." They grumble tediously, refusing to look up from their paperwork.

'Wish my angel were here for this.' "Need to speak with…" Crowley begins when a familiar presence tickles at his senses.

"Samael." God greets her favourite child.

Crowley slowly turns. Eyes raise to meet his Creator. She was as glorious as he remembers. Radiant elegance is all Her perfection. He felt shameful for his anger towards Her as She smiles warmly at him. 'Please keep your word.' "Here is your demon." He says shoving his offering towards God.

"Eric." The demon informs with a quick bow. Eyes locked on their Heavenly Mother, awestruck.

"Welcome, Eric." God smiles down on him. A gentle hand placed on the wide-eyed demon's shoulder.

Though his mouth opened and closed, he was unable to utter a sound. It was all Eric could do not to fall at Her feet to grovel. Her presence was comforting in a way he had never known. The fears of Hell cast aside and replaced with a feeling he could not identify.

"I never doubted you, My son." She says to Crowley. "Follow me."

Both demons do as bid. Crowley's mind at a loss on where they could be going. Curious as to if there would be some formal ceremony, but dared not question God as he had done long ago. 'Faith. Like Aziraphale. That's what She wants. Don't muck this up, Crowley. You only get the one chance at this.'

They pause in front of two large white doors, which open upon God's command. Inside is a spring, welling up from the centre of the floor. Crystal clear waters glittering in the harsh light. Crowley is struck with a new fear. 'You can't be serious? After all this, Holy water?' "That's the Font of Living Water," he says, swallowing hard at the implication of what was expected of them. 'Can't be. Just having a go at me. That'sal. Just a test.'

"It is," God says, gliding around the edge of the pool. "Those who have faith in me may enter the water and not be harmed. Cleansed free of their sins."

Crowley looks from the water, then to God, then back to the source of his inevitable destruction. 'Fuck. I should have bloody know. Another impossible obstacle.'

Eric stands frozen with terror. "You want me to willingly throw myself into holy water?" He asks of both Crowley and God. Shifting back towards the exit, he cast his fellow demon an accusing glare, "Listen, you didn't say anything about holy water."

"Merely Baptism." God tries to reassure the frightened little demon.

"Of death!" he squawks. "Can't you just wave your hand or something?" Eric gestures dramatically to demonstrate the point.

God grins at the impetuous little demon before walking past. She gives Crowley one last lingering glance, "I will leave you to decide." God closes the door behind silently Her.

Eric scoffs, "Yeah, well, that's not happening."

"Whot?" Growls Crowley. 'No. You're my only bloody chance. Shit, shit, shit. Why me?'

Scrunching his face in contentious disbelief, "I am not risking my existence for forgiveness. Thought this was going to be hey God sorry bought all that. Now She wants me to self immolate or whatever. Fuck no."

Crowley stalks up to the disposable. Jaw jutting forward, grabbing him by the ragged scarf around his neck. Serpent eyes glaring his command, "You are going to get in that water and get God'ssss forgivenessss or sssso help me I…" An incessant vibration pulls his attention towards his pocket. With his free hand, he withdraws his phone. Crowley was alarmed to find he had missed ten calls from his sister. He answers, fearing the worst. "Sera what's happened?"

"Crowley!" Sera shrieks shrilly into the phone. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah no. M'good...is Aziraphale o'right?"

"Yes! Where are you? Aziraphale is worried sick."

"I'ma...in Heaven." 'Should have bloody called.' The phone abruptly disconnects. 'Shit. In for it now. Right, back to the matter at hand.' He turns his attention back to the Disposable. "Listen, it's only water. In and out. N'uth'n to it."

"I heard what happened to Ligur. You're the one immune. Gone native, they said. You go first!" Erics shouts, trying to wriggle free.

Crowley jerks the disposable harshly, "That's not how this bloody works. Get in the fucking..." The doors burst open, startling them both. Crowley nearly losing his grip.

"Crowley! Back away from there!" Aziraphale cries rushing to his husband's side. He pushes Crowley, with a shocking amount of force, against the wall. Frantically he searches his husband for any sign of injury. Finding none, he grips his lapels, "What the Hell are you thinking?" Their mouths crash together. Fear and relief meld, fueling the heated kiss. Crowley's strong arms pulling him firmly against him. All thought of their surroundings, and their audience, forgotten. "You reckless..." He whimpers between a kiss. " Encorageble..." Aziraphale is cut off once again by his husband's instant lips. "Beautiful..." He moans feeling fingers tangle in his hair. "Crowley, you could have been…" he stifles the dreadful thought by sealing their mouths once more. Aziraphale finally pulls away, only to bury his face against Crowley's broad shoulder. "I love you." He keens, cleaving to his husband.

"M'sorry, dove." Crowley purrs against his angel's ear. "You alright?"

"Yes, dearest." 'I am now.' Aziraphale leans back, still cradled in his husband's arms. Brow furrowed as he unconsciously pouts, "But...Crowley? What are you doing here, of all places?" Crowley nods in the direction of Sera and a second onlooker. Aziraphale glance over to see the demon giving him a lecherous smirk.

"Hey, Crowley's angel. Don't mind me." Eric mumbles. "Wow, you really are pregnant."

Deciding to ignore the unabashed lustful consideration Aziraphale beams up at his husband. "Crowley, you did it."

"Well…" Crowley groans in frustration. 'Little shit is trying to back out on me.'

Aziraphale shifts free from his husband's arms. Glowing with gratitude at Crowley's salvation. "Thank you, dear boy. I can't express how thankful we are you agreed to do this."

Crowley takes his angel's hand. Turning Aziraphale towards him. "Listen, dove. The disposable…"

"Eric." Eric interrupts.

"THE BLOODY GOD DAMNED DISPOSABLE IF YOU DON'T GET IN THE WATER!" Crowley growls at the little demon, making to grab him once more. Aziraphale stays his hand. Pushing between the two.

Eric throws up his hands, shuffling for the doors, "Listen. I'm out. No demon in their right mind is going to set foot in that shit."

'Oh, no, you don't.' Aziraphale hurries to block the demon's retreat. Taking a deep breath to collect his thoughts. 'Be polite. He is doing us a favour. More flies with honey, as it were.' His shoulders soften as he adopts the most cordial smile he could. "Eric. If you do this, every demon has a chance at salvation. All of them. Surely that is worth the risk alone?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't risk a bad cup of tea for them. So no." Eric scoffs indignantly.

"There must be something that could persuade you?" Aziraphale pleads for his husband's sake.

"Got anything more appealing than not dying?" He asks insolently, knowing the answer.

"Well…" his hands begin to wring nervously, brow harshly furrowed in contemplation. 'Isn't God's forgiveness enough? Surely there is something. Crowley is in pain. Think Aziraphale.'

"Didn't think so," Eric says, walking from the room before Crowley could make another threat on his life.

"Wait! Please!" Aziraphale calls after him. The demon doesn't so much as pause as he makes for the escalators. Aziraphale looks to his husband, who slips down the wall. Appearing positively defeated. His corporation's heart aches at Crowley's hopeless stare.q "My love, I am so sorry. Please don't despair. There has to be a way."

"I find someone, and She moves the finish line." Crowley grouses under his breath. 'I was so close. I did what She asked. Wasn't it enough? Never would be. All because I didn't want to watch my siblings Fall. Why do you hate me?"

"What was that?" Aziraphale asks feeling as though he stumbled upon a clue. Eyes flying wide as he mulls his husband's words. 'Rules. You called this a game.'

"I said, I do as She asks and the rules change. She never said anything about holy water." Crowley sneers, really wishing he had a rock to throw at the pool which mocked his failure.

"Rules!" Aziraphale shrieks darting from the room.

"Where are you going?" Crowley shouts, scrambling to his feet. He and Sera give chase watching Aziraphale disappear into the Metatron's office.

Aziraphale storms in, right past the Metatron. Who, by this time, was so annoyed by the constant interruption he doesn't even bother to greet him. God, it seemed was waiting for him. Smiling pleasantly as ever. "What precisely was your bargain?" He says, conscious that his tone sounded dangerously close to a demand.

"Hello, Aziraphale," God says softly.

"Yes, hello." He says uninterested in pleasantries. 'Please let this work.' "What are the rules for Your bargain with my husband?"

Surprised by Her normally politest child's forwardness, God answers, "Samael was to find a demon who would repent. And I would forgive them and any other demon who wishes to be forgiven."

"With holy water as the final test of faith, correct?" He inquiries further.

"Correct."

"Any demon?" He asks to clarify. Confidence surging through him.

"Yes." God nods.

'One demon. Any demon. This might just work. Please let this work.' "Crowley is a demon… does that not count?" Aziraphale asks, holding his hand out towards his husband.

"Whot?" Crowley barks. 'That's not what She said. Is it? I never asked. Could...no don't get your hopes up. She'd never agree to that.'

"Just one. Here is your one demon. You didn't say it couldn't be himself." Aziraphale asserts, voice rising an octave. 'You are God. You can so as You please.'

God looks at her favourite children. An amused smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Interesting interpretation Aziraphale. Quite clever." She says sweetly. She looks to her favourite son. "Alright. Samael if you truly wish to be forgiven it is yours."

'You have got to be fucking kidding me? It could have been me the entire time?' "Just like that?" He questions, afraid to give over to hope once more.

"Yes," God says. "I hadn't intended this when we made our agreement. But Aziraphale is right. I never said it couldn't be you."

Aziraphale takes his stunned husband by the hand. "Thank you, my Lord. We should be getting a wiggle on." The trio leaves Metatron's office. The voice of God pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy exasperated sigh.

They return to the font. All three staring at the crystalline water. It was one thing to contemplate what Crowley was about to do. Another thing entirely to watch his husband walk towards his possible destruction. Fear grips him, making him regret having solved the impossible riddle. 'What if he doesn't have faith? I should stop him. I can be happy. He doesn't have to suffer if I am happy. I can't lose you.' Aziraphale grabs his husband, pulling him into his arms. "Crowley, if…"

Crowley stops his angel's fretting with a tender kiss, withdrawing slowly. 'My beautiful, clever angel.' He tucks a stray ringlet behind Aziraphale's ear. Sapphire eyes twinkling with punished tears. Worry clear on heavenly features. "Aziraphale tha..."

"Crowley we will...we will find another way. I can just focus very hard on being happy. You don't have to do this. I...if you don't...I…" Aziraphale tries to find anything that would dissuade his husband from the possible danger. 'We need you.'

Crowley sweeps a thumb over his angel's trembling bottom lip. 'There is nothing that can keep me from you.' He steals one last kiss, before resting his forehead against Aziraphale's. "Ye of little faith, angel." He purrs low. Warm love and fear pour into him as he steps away.

Crowley keeps his focus on his family as he draws his shirt over his head. He removes his boots and watch, handing them to Sera. The only items he retains are his leather pants, and necklace. Little medallion gleaming in the light. He throws his arms wide as he backs towards the spring. "N'uth'n to it. Just water." He smiles to his angel.

Aziraphale clings to Sera's arm. Heart pounding as he watches his husband turn away. 'Please God. Don't take my husband.'

Crowley stands at the edge of the water. All doubt willed from his mind as it wouldn't serve him or his family now. Like so many, She had chosen to favour She tested them harshly. 'You're a real bitch sometimes, you know.' He almost laughs at the thought. Glancing back at Aziraphale, he gives his angel a reassuring excited smile. 'I'm going to spend the rest of eternity thanking you for this.'

Crowley looks back to the font. Taking a deep breath as he closes his eyes, slipping a toe into the water. He gasps in blissful relief as the cool liquid ripples over his skin. Moving into the pool, he huffs sharp heaving breaths. He felt her. For the first time since his Fall, he felt Her grace flowing through his essence. An ancient song he had forgotten rings within him. Tears fall freely down his cheeks. Every emotion felt at once, in dizzying exhilaration. Crowley lowers into the pool, submerging completely into its depths.

Aziraphale hadn't drawn a single breath from the moment his husband stepped into the water. Sera too was rigid with fear at his side. He had witnessed the little demon's destruction in Hell, and though Crowley appeared to be unharmed, he still prayed.

It wasn't long, though it felt like an eternity before Crowley emerged from the font. Aziraphale stares in awe as his husband rises. He is glory. Six firey wings stretch wide, burning fiercely behind him. Where freckles had once been now glitter golden stars. Constellations picked out on his skin. When he, at last, stood at the edge of the spring, Crowley opens his eyes. Molten pools of gold, alight with flame, staring at him. His husband's form radiating Heavenly fire.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale whispers into the silence.

"Hey, dove." Crowley smiles, pleased by his angel's astonished expression. "Not bad, eh?"

It had been a thought at the back of his mind. One he refused to entertain, but there all the same. That when his husband had been forgiven part of him would be lost. That perhaps he would no longer be the Crowley he had fallen in love with. The cocky affectional grin he now wore told him everything he needed to know. Aziraphale rushes into his husband's waiting arms. 'You're alright. Thank you, God. Thank you for keeping him safe. Thank you for Crowley.'

Crowley holds his family tightly. His angel weeping softly against his neck. "Thank you, Aziraphale." 'For everything.'

Sera steps closer. The brother she had known so long ago returned. "How do you feel?" She asks, offering him his clothing.

Crowley shrugs, still holding his angel. "Aside from not feeling like I am burning up from the inside. Bought the same."

"So. I guess I will pardoning a bunch of demons then." God's voice calls from the entrance. Everyone turns to face Her. She smiles at her children with maternal fondness.

"Disappointed?" Crowley taunts playfully.

"Not in the least." She laughs. "Be kind to each other. What you two have is precious beyond measure." She turns her attention to Sera. "Seraphiel, keep an eye on him, won't you. Make sure he stays out of trouble."

"Yes, my Lord." Sera agrees eagerly.

God leaves them. Turning away with a smile, she disappears in a blink. Crowley dries and dresses with a snap, just to be certain everything was in proper working order. He takes his angel's hand, grinning from ear to ear as he walks from the room.

8:54 am  
London

They all sat in the Bentley. None saying a word. For Crowley's part, he stares out of the windscreen, gripping the steering wheel, mind overflowing with a myriad of thoughts, questions, and disbelief. Shock might be what humans called it. He felt his angel and his sister watching him try and fail to comprehend everything that happened. It was all surreal and at a word ineffable.

"Dearest?" Aziraphale utters softly, resting his hand on his husband's white knuckles. 'Perhaps he didn't want this? He said he did. Did I force him into this?' Aziraphale's guilt settles like a chunk of ice in his chest. Worry creasing his brow. 'Please say something.'

Crowley draws in a deep breath. Forcing his mind to consolidate the maelstrom of thoughts into something resembling a coherent sentence. "It has been...I have no idea how long. And now…" 'I am me? An angel? No longer a demon? I'm Crowley. Forgiven. Should I feel different?'

Aziraphale shifts closer. Both wanting to let his husband know he was there, and his own need to feel close. "Crowley, are you...are you happy?"

'Happy?' "M'not a demon anymore." Crowley looks in the rearview mirror. Slit of serpent eyes replaced with ones more human. Though the golden colour remained. He turns his face. The once red and black serpent tattoo was now gold as well. A familiar stranger stares back at him in the reflection.

'"Yes, but are you happy?" Aziraphale asks again.

"Think so." He answers, looking over himself. "Dunno what else you'd call it."

'You aren't happy. You didn't want this. I just wanted to help you, not change you. What have I done? I should have let this be your choice.' Aziraphale can't look at his husband out of shame. "Crowley...if there is…"

He hears the apology in his angel's tone. Looking over, he notices Aziraphale's little remorseful pout. 'What are you blaming yourself for now? Do you have any idea what you have done for me?' Crowley brings his hand up, tipping his angel's chin so he could look into distressed sapphire eyes. "Dove, please stop fretting. You saved me. Again." Aziraphale's bottom lip quivers pitiably, appearing on the verge of tears. 'After everything I said you still came back and saved me.' Crowley wants to kiss his angel. Wisk Aziraphale away and put all the horrible moments behind them, but it wouldn't do. "Aziraphale, about earlier." 'Where to being? Sorry for being the biggest arsehole in the universe?'

Aziraphale edges closer, wrapping his arms around his husband's middle. The steady thrum of Crowley's heart against his cheek and warmth of his corporation was soothing. Breathing in his husband's familiar scent, he closes his eyes, 'I have already forgiven you.' "We can discuss it at length later. Right now, my love, I'd like to be home."

10:02 am  
The Cottage

They two angels sit together in their nest. Aziraphale supported in his husband's lap. Delicate fingers sweeping just under his Crowley's transformed eyes. It was peculiar, after knowing someone for as long as time had existed to see them as they now were. No less beautiful, but it felt as if he were looking into the eyes of a stranger. His brows furrowed in concentrated study.

"What's wrong, Dove?" Crowley asks nervously, though not wholly minding the attention.

"Your eyes...they are different." Aziraphale answers, still mesmerised by every minute detail. The light that pours through  
their large bedroom window seems to make irises glow. Tiny specks of lighter gold, dusted over a golden disk, polished to a brilliant shine.

"You don't like them?" Crowley asks in alarm. 'Did you like them more before? Can I change them back?'

Aziraphale sees his husband's mind busy at work, contemplating how best to please him. 'And you think I fret too much.' Aziraphale leans as close, combing his fingers through firey waves. With a reassuring smile he kisses each lid, Crowley obligingly closes. "They are beautiful, my love. It will just take some getting use to." His gaze follows his fingers as they caress over prominent cheekbone. "And your freckles."

"I can tone it down if you like." He offers, feeling somehow more exposed than he ever had in a state of nudity. His angel didn't appear to be put off by the changes. The thought alone, however, was enough to make him question if Aziraphale was merely being polite.

"Don't you dare." Aziraphale scolds with a pout. "You are as beautiful as you have always been. I'm just…" 'Trying to wrap my head around it all. Hoping this changes nothing between us. Not sure as what to say.'

"Seeing me," Crowley interjects. Gazing up into his angel's own hauntingly beautiful eyes. 'Seeing who I was before. What I should have been the whole time.'

Aziraphale cups his husband's face. "I've always seen you. This changes nothing about how I feel for you, Crowley. I love you as I always have."

Crowley scowls in scepticism. "Nothing?" 'Going from demon to angel seems like a big enough change to me.'

"Why should it?" Aziraphale asks in concern. 'Do you want me to feel differently? I love you. I love you as I always have. It never mattered to me that you were a demon. This is still our side. No matter your title. You are still our child's father. Why must things be different?'

"I'm an angel again." Crowley shrugs, hoping to appear indifferent. 'All those times, you went on about the righteousness of Heaven. Surely you wanted this as much as I did. Didn't you?'

'You thought so little of yourself. Oh, my beautiful husband. It is not possible for me to love you more than I already do.' "Crowley I need you to understand what I am about to tell you. I fell in love with who you are. Not what you were or currently are. I love you, Crowley."

"Yeah well, but...This is better, righ?" Crowley asks, his tone rising an octave.

Aziraphale presses a tender kiss to his husband's lips. Resting his brow to Crowley's, he gives the truth, though he wasn't sure if his husband would accept it as such. "If you are happy, my love, that is all that matters to me." 'That you are happy, safe, and still at my side.'

"I am happy," Crowley assures, caressing his angel's back. 'I have you, our child, m'no longer at Hell's command. What more could I want?'

A curiosity sprung into his mind. He had seen Crowley's new wings only a moment before he had tucked them away. Flames had replaced the beautiful ebon wings he had enjoyed tending to all these months. 'Will they still need grooming?' "Can I..." Aziraphale begins to ask before he stops himself. "Never mind it's silly."

"Whot? Whot'ver you want, dove, just ask." Crowley insists.

"Your wings?" Aziraphale asks meekly, with a little pout.

"Oh, yeah, sure." He nods at the innocent request. Crowley wills his wings into their plane of existence. All six burning brightly, yet surprisingly cool. He watches as his angel reaches out experimentally, before hesitating. Eyes flicking up at him in a shy apology. 'You seriously think I don't want you to touch them?' Bringing his wings forward, he feels Aziraphale's fingers plunge into the ethereal flame. It sends a shiver through him. The contact ending as his angel's gasps, hand pulled back. The little rush of ecstasy that sparks between them ending abruptly.

Surprised by the delicious rush of pleasure, Aziraphale considers the glorious plumes carefully. Reaching out once more, he gently brushes along the middle wing. Barely grazing the surface, heat pools in his corporation. Feeling as though he would be lost in climax if his touch lingers a moment longer. By the way his husband head lists back, with a needful groan, Crowley seems equally affected. "I won't get to groom them anymore." He says, trying to dissuade himself from that particular temptation.

"Yeah, but you can do that as much as you like," Crowley mumbles, mind lost in an aching haze. His effort responds eagerly to the sensation, demanding more. There is more he needs to say before he would allow himself any form of satisfaction. Clearing his throat, he pushes through the fog. "Dove, I am sorry. I said..."

Aziraphale stops his husband's lips with the tips of his fingers. "I've already forgiven you, dearest."

Crowley takes his angel's hand, giving the palm a lingering kiss. "No. I need to say it." he sighs into Aziraphale's supple skin in shame. Turning his angel's hand over, he frowns at the little snake coiled around delicate ring finger. "I never felt worthy of you," he admits caressing the ring. "Or Alexandria." his free hand caresses his angel's belly. Their baby pressing into his touch. "Never felt I deserved either of your love. I was just so bloody excited you agreed to be with me. I told myself I would do whatever it took to be worthy. Be a husband you deserve." He kisses his angel's knuckles, unable to meet Aziraphale's gaze. "And today...or last night...I said things I shouldn't have because of it. I need our child. And I need you." Crowley hears a little hiccuping gasp, causing him to look up. His angel was weeping silently. Expression pained and tense. Before he could say a word, Aziraphale pulls him into a tight embrace.

"You have always been worthy, my love." He whimpers against the crown of his husband's head. Heart and essence aching at such an admission from one so cherished.

Crowley continues, needing his angel to hear it all. "I am so sorry for hurting you. Sorry for all the pain I caused. I am sorry for being a demon."

Aziraphale holds his husband all the tighter. "That never mattered to me."

Crowley draws his angel's arms away so he might sit up, giving a little grin. 'You are beautiful, even when you cry. Really isn't fair.' Wiping away Aziraphale's tears, he purrs low, "It did to me."

Aziraphale grasps his husband's face, kissing him, desperate to express his love and acceptance. Crowley's tongue traces at the seam of his lips, asking for entrance. Aziraphale deepens the kiss instantly. His husband's hands fist in his hair, holding him in place. Unconsciously Aziraphale's hands drift down Crowley's back, passing through his wings. His husband moans into their kiss. Feeling Crowley's effort grow firm beneath him Aziraphale rises up on his knees, positioning just so, before resting down. As his husband's arousal is accepted into his warmth, Crowley growls low in his throat. Hands slip from his hair to his shoulders as Crowley gives a firm thrust up. Aziraphale gasps at the exquisite filling stretch. "Take me, my love."

Crowley's mouth claims his angel's neck. The waves pleasure rolling into him, and his angel's needful plea brings a spark of inspiration. "Your wings." he purrs against his angel's ear.

Aziraphale does, his husband bringing his forward, uniting their wings. A rush of divine ecstasy sets his corporation alight. His eyes open wide, staring heavenward, body locked as he is lost in wave after wave of intense climax. "Cr...Ugnhhhh...Cr…"

"I've g-got you." Crowley manages to say. Each of his angel's orgasms screaming inside of him. Aziraphale's nails bite into his shoulders, arousal clenching firmly around his own. Crowley tries to keep his own release at bay, but mere moments later he too tumbles from that impossible height. He spills into his angel in aching pulses, pulling his wings away. Aziraphale slumps against him, corporation limp, convulsing in his arms. When at last, he can form a cohesive thought, he asks, "You ok, dove?"

"H-hold me," Aziraphale whimpers helplessly.

"I am," Crowley says, pressing a kiss to his angel's temple. He shifts them, laying them both down in their nest, Aziraphale cradled in his arms. It is a long while until his angel's trembling subsides. Crowley caressing his angel's cheek as Aziraphale's breathing becomes steady, appearing as though near sleep. His name a whisper on heavenly lips the only sign his angel was still with him. "I'm right here, dove. I'll always be right here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is far from over. Thank you everyone for continuing to read. Especially in these chaotic times. I appreciate each and everyone of you.


	40. Another announcement.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. If you are reading this, I just want to apologise for my hiatus. My partner dreadsigilodegra and I are now home owners. We thought it was going to fall through due to the pandemic, but we got word suddenly that we were closing and had since been moving two households into one. I have been writing when I have a spare moment. But it is going to be a bit still. Please be patient with me. I appreciate you all and hope you are well. 
> 
> I uploaded Crowley post ascension. Not really happy with the background. But I love him.

I am not sure if this will notify everyone.


	41. A New Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexandria, bit of mild angst, a much needed holiday begins, and smut. Hope you all enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, sorry for the wait. The move went well, and now I am back. With art!

Crowley lays basking in the golden rays of the sun. The radiant heat seeping into his corporation, warming him through. He had half a mind to shift into his snake form and take full advantage. That was before his solitude is pleasantly disturbed by his blessedly, beautiful angel. Smiling only for him, its own beam of light filling his world with love and peace. "Hey, dove." He greets lazily from his reclined position. "Double date again, I see." 'Wonder if we will still get to do this when they are born? I'd like to.'

"So it would seem. You look quite comfortable." Aziraphale says coming to stand by his husband's side. Appreciatively he gazes down at Crowley contented smile. 'You are so exquisitely beautiful when you are happy. Would that I could have made you this joyous before. I know you wouldn't agree, but you deserve to always be this happy and so much more. Perhaps you can finally allow yourself to see what I have always seen.' "Have you spotted Alexandria yet?"

"No, not me. Just woke up...well, found m'self here." Crowley relinquishes his comfortable patch of lawn. He rises, dusting the bits of grass and little wildflowers that clung to his clothing. "Figure, they will find us soon enough."

Almost as if on cue a bright giggle echos through the garden. Little feet carry their own beam of light toward them. Arms thrown wide, ready to hurl themselves into their parent's arms. Alexandria cries in excitement, "Mummy! Dadd…" their words falter. Coming to a stop, they stare the pair standing before them.

Crowley felt, without the aid of facial features, they were staring at him. Fear and suspicion poured from them. Prey coming face to face with a hidden danger. Crowley smiles, though confused, taking a step forward. Alexandria recoils away, drawing their arms tightly into themselves. 'You have never feared me before. Not once. What has...changed? Me.' "Hey kiddo, what's wrong?"

"Daddy?" They question the stranger in the garden. He looks like their father, smelled like him, had his voice, but there was something off. Wrong.

Crowley fell to his knees before their child, arm outstretched. Worry written across his face. Heart fearing they might flee. 'Don't run. Please don't leave. I would never hurt you. Did you hear what I said? Please forgive me. I didn't mean it. Please, please, please I love you. I need you.' "It's me, kiddo," Crowley says softly. He makes to reach out a hand. Only to have them take another fearful step back. "Alexandria?" 'You hate me.'

Aziraphale didn't know what to make of it all. Their child never seemed the timid type. Bold and curious as Crowley ever was. They did not seem to be wary of his presence. Several times he felt as though Alexandria was looking to him for reassurance. His husband too. Both his loved ones terrified. Lost as to the best course of action, he tentatively steps closer. Alexandria did not back away from his advancement. "Sweetheart, are you alright?" When he is just past Crowley, they rush to his side. Clinging to his leg, they peering at his husband from the safety of his side. Aziraphale holds them, hoping to calm their anxieties. "Darling, it's alright. You needn't fear your father."

Alexandria looks from their mummy to their daddy. His comforting tone gave them courage enough to meet the unfamiliar gaze. Still clinging to their mother's pant leg, they ask, "Mummy, he doesn't feel like my daddy." Their voice quivers piteously.

'Feel? How did I feel before? Demon.' He fought every instinct that demanded he scoops their child into his arms and comfort them. Panicking, chest heaving, he thinks on how to prove himself. Pulling back his hair, he turns his face to reveal the little serpent tattoo. It was now gold, but it was still there. Alexandria shuffles around to see, if only a little. "It's still me, Alexandria. I promise." They didn't appear convinced. Burying their little face against Aziraphale. His angel looked at him with sympathetic eyes. 'Shit. How can I...Something only I would know. Think you fucking idiot. Think….Forge-me-nots.' "Alexandria. That day, when we danced. You had flowers. Forget-me-nots. You said I hadn't come to play with you. Yes? I promised to dance with you and mummy every day. Remember?" 'Please, it is me.'

They step around their mummy, clinging to the familiar hand. "What happened to you, daddy?" They whimper softly in confusion. "You're different."

Hope wells up within him. He looks at Aziraphale who gives him a reassuring smile. "Yeah, kiddo. Daddy was a demon. Now m'not." Again he tries to smile, holding out his arms. He sends a silent prayer to their Mother. 'Please, God, help them understand. I need them.'

"Why?" They whine, clinging all the tighter to their mother’s hand.

Pained by both their child's fear, and his husband's Aziraphale tries to clarify, "Your father has received God's forgiveness, darling. He is an angel again."

"But why?" They ask of their mummy, even more confused.

"Had to kiddo," Crowley answers softly. 'For you, mum and me. Maybe I shouldn't have? Maybe...no this is better. Has to be.' "I'm still your dad."

Alexandria begins to release Aziraphale's hand but stops. Their little featureless face upturns to him. He can feel their need for guidance. With a gentle hand, he pushes them a step towards Crowley. "It's alright, darling. Go to your father."

Timidly they reach out. A dainty finger touching their daddy's hand, tracing over his palm. Crowley remains stock-still, allowing them to appraise him. Stepping closer, they take a curl in hand, studying the colour, cautious of any sudden movement. Twirling the fiery strands around their finger, they relax, if only a bit. Their attention goes to the unfamiliar eyes, watching them. Gold, yes, but pupils no longer as they should be. Alexandria touches their father’s frightened face.

Carefully, and ever so slowly, Crowley brings one trembling hand up to cover theirs. Though he didn’t need air, he felt as though he were unable to catch his breath. 'It's me. It's me. Please don't be afraid.'

“Daddy,” Alexandria exclaims, throws their arms around his neck, holding him tightly.

At first, he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, but he couldn't help it. Crowley embraces their child, rocking them both. His face buried against their shoulder. ‘Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.’ Tears of relief are kept at bay only as not to worry them, as he once had. "It's me." He whispers in their ear.

"Do you still like flowers?" They ask sheepishly.

He huffs a gasping relieved laugh. "F'course I do." He smiles at his angel, caressing Alexandria's back. 'Thank you.'

Aziraphale wants desperately to hold his family but knew they needed this moment to themselves. A hand flutters to his chest as he watches Crowley plant a tender kiss to their temple. 'How could you ever think you were not the most wonderful father?'

“Will you still dance with mummy and me?” Alexandria asks, still content to be held close.

“Everyday kiddo,” Crowley assures. Heart feeling as though it were about to burst from sheer joy.

Pulling back Alexandria stares into golden eyes. “Daddy, you still love us, right?” They ask, their worry evident in their voice.

The question pierces through him. 'It is impossible for me not to love you. In all existence, you and your mother are the only things that matter.' Crowley points a finger at their little face. Features soft yet serious. “There is nothing Alexandria, nothing at all, that would make me not love you. Your mum and I have loved you from the moment we found out we were going to be your mummy and daddy. And we always will. Alright?”

“I love you too, Daddy.” They say, shining brightly, pressing a kiss to their father's cheek.

Crowley nearly dissolves into a puddle of love and tears. His angel appears to share his elation. Still cradling Alexandria firmly against him, he rises, offering a hand to Aziraphale. His angel hurries to his side, head resting on his shoulder. Crowley cleaves to his family. Kissing first their child's cheek, then Aziraphale's lips. ‘Luckiest bastard there ever was. Sorry for scaring you, kiddo.’

Alexandria rears back, “Oi! I have something new to show you.” They wiggle free of Crowley’s arms, though he was loathed to allow them to do so. Their child takes both of their hands, pulling them through the garden. “C’mon! It’s this way!”

They are led past a perfectly manicured hedge, out onto the white sands of a beach. Turquoise waters gently crashing against the shore. Sunlight glittering off the surface. Warm salty air washes over the little family, making the dream seem all too real. Both parents looking at each other as if to say ‘This isn’t part of our home.’ Alexandria, unaware of their confusion, drags them down near the shoreline.

“Mummy, daddy, can we go swimming?” Alexandria asks, releasing their hands.

Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves miraculously clad in bathing suits. Crowley’s black as expected, be it a little more modest than the one he wore to Nice. The looser fitting trunks falling just above the knee. Aziraphale was delighted to be wearing a more vintage suit. He couldn’t help the little giggle that escaped him looking over his tartan one-piece men’s bathing costume reminiscent of 20s fashion. If he were to have his choice, it was precisely to his standards. Though, by the way, Crowley grimaced at him, he was sure his husband would have opted for something a bit more revealing.

With his hands on his hips, Crowley stares down on their little one, who was expectantly waiting. “Ya’know, sharks live in the...Alexandria! What is that?” He points out to sea. Both Alexandria and Aziraphale innocently gaze over the water trying to make out what Crowley had seen. With their child distracted Crowley scoops them up with a playful growl. Alexandria squeals their excitment as their father splashes into the water. He was reasonably sure they didn’t need to breathe, but he instructs all the same, “Hold your breath kiddo. We’re going under.”

They both plunge beneath the waves, turquoise waters perfectly cool around them. Alexandria impossibly bright, illuminates their surroundings. A school of fish dart past, their silvery scales shimmering in their light. Crowley kicks off the bottom, pushing them back towards the surface. Emerging as boisterously as they had disappeared. Alexandria giggles wildly in their father’s arms. Their attention goes to their mother, still standing at the shoreline. “Mummy come on!” They call out gleefully.

Having been entranced by the merry scene before him Aziraphale’s mind snaps out of its revere. “Coming, my darlings,” he answers, hurrying to join his family.

They spend what felt like a long afternoon in their child’s perfectly crafted dreamscape. Crowley chases them in the surf, both laughing as they each take turns tagging the other. Aziraphale helps collect little seashells of every shape and colour. They shared a picnic, pleasantly devoid of any intrusive granules in their food. After lunch, the three construct an impressive sandcastle. Which, astonishing resembles, in near-perfect detail, a miniature of Arthur’s grand Camelot. Alexandria insists they reenact the moment their father purposed the arrangement. Aziraphale and Crowley did, though it may have been a bit more theatrical than an accurate recounting of events.

Finally, they lay together on a large blanket. Aziraphale and Crowley cradling their child between them. Alexandria absently playing with a long crimson tendril. “Mummy, Daddy, how much longer?” They ask with a long sigh, staring at the cloudless blue sky above.

Aziraphale looks to his husband. Crowley’s brow furrowing with worry as he holds them all the closer. ‘Oh, sweet darling. You father and I never wish to leave you.’ He smiles at their little one, “I will eventually have to wake up so I can eat for you. But your father, I am sure, wouldn’t mind staying.” Crowley looked as though he were about to agree when their child speaks.

“No. How much longer until I am born? I want to be with you all the time.” They say wistfully.

Crowley answers, “Bout sixteen more weeks kiddo. Not too much longer.” ‘Why does it have to take so long? Wonder if Aziraphale is eager to be done with it too?’ He looks over his angel’s male form, which their child had apparently accepted as Aziraphale’s true self. If asked, he would admit he missed the familiarity of his angel’s typical masculine expression, though he didn’t mind the other. It was his angel regardless, and lowly beggars shouldn’t complain when presented with divine perfection.

‘Sixteen weeks? Why does it feel like an eternity?’ Aziraphale feels a new worry settle in his mind. Their child, unlike what he assumed human children were capable of, was very cognizant of their situation. Or so it seemed. ‘What must it be like to be trapped within a dream? Only able to see us when we sleep?’ “Alexandria, darling, do you get...lonely?” He asks finally, dreading the answer.

“Lonely?” They reflect on the word a moment before answering. “No. Not really.”

“Should we try to sleep more often?” Crowley offers, already devising a plan to care for both Aziraphale and Alexandria’s needs.

“Nope.” They say emphasising the p. “I’ll be alright.” Their little voice was resolute as they answer. Taking their parent’s hands, they position them as desired. Alexandria’s tiny hand, a sliver of light, interposed between two much larger palms. Aziraphale and Crowley marvel at their little one happily nestled between them. “Its morning. Say hello to everyone for me.”

“We will, Alexandria.” affrims Aziraphale.

“See you, kiddo.” Crowley smiles. ‘Few more months.’

“Bye, Daddy. Bye, Mummy.” They say giving them both a quick peck, releasing them to the world beyond.

Monday 20 January 2020  
7:23 am  
The Cottage

It was morning as Alexandria had said. Crowley and Aziraphale lay in their nest as they had on that imaginary beach. Regrettably, their child was no longer in their arms but sheltered within the latter's belly. His angel looks at him with such a sad longing Crowley's heart aches. Drawing his family tightly into his arms, he kisses Aziraphale's forehead. "I know, dove. Few more months. Just a few short months and we can spend every minute with them."

"I know. I just worry for them." Aziraphale admits nuzzling into his husband's sleep mussed hair. 'What if they do get lonely? What if they are sad and we aren't there to comfort them?'

Crowley pulls back, tipping his angel's chin up. "If the past few months are anything to go by our Alexandria is a tough one. Takes after their mum on that account." His thumb sweeps gently over Aziraphale's bottom lip before sealing their mouths in a kiss.

Aziraphale smiles, eyes still closed as he breathes in his husband's calming scent. "I am afraid you are mistaken, my love. Their mother is quite soft. Most likely, they take after their wonderful father."

"Only soft where it counts. Otherwise, you can be pretty intimidating when you want to be." Crowley smirks, caressing his angel's cheek tenderly.

Aziraphale pouts at the accusation. "Intimating? I dare say, I am nothing of the sort. Thanks to you allowing me to be so all these years." When no rebuttal came, he snuggles closer to his husband.

'Wouldn't have it any other way.' Crowley holds his perfectly soft angel to him. Mind lost on their child's fantasy when a notion pops into his ever working mind. “I have an idea?”

The mischievous tone of his husband's voice was not a reassurance. 'Oh, Lord. What is it? I was rather hoping we could forgo any excitement for a while.' “I am not sure if I like the sound of that.”

Crowley shoots up, coming to hover over his angel. “You’ll have to thank Alexandria for this one." He grins, before planting a quick kiss to his angel's surprised lips. "How would you feel about going on a short holiday? Just a week or two. To celebrate. We’ll take the plane. "

Aziraphale nervously pouts. His own mind contemplating the plethora of things that could go wrong. As they are like to do whenever they are involved. "Crowley do you think that is wise? Shouldn't pregnant women be cautious of air travel? I am getting rather far along, you know."

"Shouldn't be a problem until much later," Crowley says quickly. "B'sides, Sera, I'm sure will insist on tagging along. Which means Ysabel is coming too." He says to reassure his angel. "Wouldn’t mind the witch and her little nob going as well. Keep the other two busy. Never have a moment alone otherwise." He mumbles absently to himself. "That way we have the essentials, should anything 'appen." Sapphires gaze up at him, considering his proposal. 'I won't let anything happen.'

'A short holiday. Perhaps you are right. Nice was wonderful. We might even be able to stay the full duration this time.' "Alright. Where would you like to go?" Aziraphale asks sweetly, smoothing their blanket down over his nudity.

Crowley's grin widens with excitement. Again he steals a quick appreciative kiss. "Someplace warm. Far away from gloomy England." He says emphasising the gloom. Waving a dismissive hand at the world just beyond their window.

Aziraphale looks at his husband, aghast. "Gloomy? I love England. It has been our home for over fourteen hundred years.” 'I want this always to be our home. I want to raise our child here. Do you? I never asked you, did I? I just assumed. Oh, this is dreadful.'

Crowley could see his angel's mind beginning to fret on something more than the posed getaway. When delicate hands began to wring anxiously, he stays them. Taking one in hand and bringing it to his lips. “I like England well enough, dove." Shrugging his shoulders, he continues with his cavalier explanation. "But a change of scenery every now and again doesn’t hurt. And our cottage will be right here when we get back.” Thinking on their options he suggests, with a bob of his head to punctuate each destination, “We could go to Hawaii, Cambodia, or Fiji. Never been to Fiji. Heard it’s beautiful there. ” 'Compromise. My idea, you pick the place. S'whot married couples do, right?'

"Nor have I." 'Holiday in Fiji? Heaven and Hell won't be coming after us. And Crowley might need this. Buck up Aziraphale. He asks for so little for himself. A tropical getaway with your husband. It might be marvellous.' "Alright, then." He smiles at Crowley. "When would you like to leave?"

"Give us a bit," Crowley says hastily, kisses his angel's forehead before bounding from their nest. Quickly sliding on his pyjama bottoms, he dashes from their room, closing their door behind him.

Aziraphale wiggles free from their nest as well. Though with a bit more difficulty. He is about to stand when the door flies open. With a gasp, he pulls their blanket around himself.

"Whot? Just me. Wanna go today?" Crowley asks of his blushing angel.

"Today? But...I have nothing to wear for tropical climates. And the nest." Aziraphale pouts, hoping to have at least a day to prepare.

"SERA!" Crowley shouts down the hall, closing their door once more.

"Good, Lord." Aziraphale sighs. Knowing by his husband's exuberance, they would be on their way by the end of the day.

Monday 20 January 2020  
5:00 pm  
London

They arrive at the airport on schedule, or at least the time Crowley had decided upon. Aided by several miracles and a bit of encouragement levelled on Newton to not be tardy. One might even call it a threat, but everyone involved knew Crowley's bite held little venom. The witch and her fiance we're approaching the gate when the former demon notices them.

'This is going to be bloody great.' “Hey, Bookgirl!” Crowley grins wickedly, as he saunters over. He had sworn Sera and Ysabel to silence regarding his ascension. Once he was able to mentally digest the events of that long night, he had come to one conclusion. And it was finally time for him to turn the tables on Anathema and her petulant game at his expense.

“Hey, demon!" Anathema says mimicking Crowley's obnoxiously delighted tone. With her own confident stride, she stalks up to him. "You're in a good mood today. How's...” She pauses, taken aback. The demon wasn't wearing his trademark sunglasses. Formerly serpentine pupils were astonishingly human, besides their unique colouring. “What happened to your...Crowley, what did you do?” She asks, looking over her friend. Past Crowley Aziraphale was trying to hide a smile. Anathema took it for a positive sign.

“Eh." Crowley squeaks. Pretending he hadn't contemplated this exact moment since they had arrived home and Ysabel had mentioned how her daughter might react to the news. "Long story." He says flippantly. "Let’s just say you can’t be calling me demon anymore.” 'No way you saw this one coming.'

Anathema focuses her senses, peering into the beyond. Crowley was no longer the dark shadow, but a brilliant flame, burning brightly. Much like his sister. Wide-eyed with disbelief, she utters, “Holy shit.”

Grinning, with his immense satisfaction Crowley holds out his hand. All besides Anathema and Newt hand him a pound note. 'Turn about is fair play.'

“Uh, congratulations.” Newt offers meekly. Seeing his fiance completely dumbfounded.

“Thanks, Salamander." Crowley nearly shouts, clapping the nervous young man on his shoulder. "Ready to go?” He was about to turn back towards his angel when he catches sight of the abomination around Newt’s waist. “No! No. No. No. No. There is no way in Hell you are going anywhere with me wearing one of those.” Crowley sneers, pointing at the offending object.

“M-my bum bag?” Newt stammers looking confused as to the issue.

“Yesss." He hisses. "Thought those bloody things finally died at the turn of the century.”

“It’s practical,” Newt says nervously. Anathema always told him not to worry about Crowley, but the demon, or former demon, always had a way of making him fear for his safety.

“You look like a bloody idiot.” Crowley snarls at the obscene Union Jack pouch.

“Well, I think it’s sexy,” Anathema says, taking Newton's hand.

“You’re a terrible liar witch.” Crowley scolds indignantly. "And you have better taste than to think s'mth'n like that is stylish, " Their witch's only reply was a sly smirk of her own. 'S'whot I get for inviting you along.'

Aziraphale takes his husband by the arm to end the debate, “Darling, we best get a wiggle on. It is a very long flight.”

"Right. Long flight." He grumbles. "On the plane you lot." Crowley barks to their friends.

As before their stewardess greets them with a polite smile. "Mr and Mrs Crowley. I see you have guests joining you today."

"Yeah," Crowley mutters. Ever the charmer to their human staff.

Aziraphale interjects with introductions, "This is Sera," he holds a hand out towards his friend. "My husband's sister and her…" 'Oh. I don't wish to presume.' He pauses, not having been informed as to what to call their relationship.

"Girlfriend," Ysabel says, shaking the young woman's hand.

"Yes. Her girlfriend, Ysabel Device." Aziraphale continues. Pleased that his friends were finding happiness with each other. 'I have been wrong before. Likely to happen again.'

"Lovely to meet you, Ms Crowley, Ms Device." Their stewardess says sweetly.

"Just Sera." Sera corrects giving Crowley an apologetic look to indicate she meant no offence. Crowley pretends not to notice.

"Very well, Sera.” The young woman agrees.

With that settled Aziraphale turns towards Anathema and Newt. “And this is Ms Device’s daughter Anathema and her fiance, Newton Pulsifer.”

Polite as ever their stewardess smiles at the group, “It is nice to meet you all. May I show you to the guest cabins."

Anathema cocks a brow over the circle frame of her glasses. Giving Crowley an accusatory glare, "You have guest cabins? Plural. As in your plane has more than one?"

"Came in handy, didn't it?" Grouses Crowley. "I could arrange for you to fly commercial."

"No, no. This is fine." Anathema smiles, enjoying Crowley's curt response.

"Follow me." Their stewardess says, stepping into the plane. She too was coming to realise that perhaps her rude employer was more bark than bite.

Once everyone was settled, and they were in the air, supper was served in the dining room. Their party ate, and Crowley regaled Anathema and Newton with the circumstances of his transformation. One particular argument was omitted from the retelling. Anathema was fascinated with the details and the implications of demons being able to receive God's forgiveness. Newton was visibly anxious when Crowley described Hell and its Dark Council. He only recently began to believe in such things, and having the story straight from the snake's mouth was enough to make him reconsider every moment of his life. Though he found little there to be concerned over. Sera asks about Bellezebub and how their former chiormate was fairing in such a horrible place. To which Crowley assured her that The Lord of Flies and Ruler of Hell was doing well enough.

Dessert was placed before them. A delicate chocolate confection, Aziraphale hummed over in appreciation, as the bittersweet decadence melts on his tongue. Crowley savours his own delicacy of a pleased angel. Heedless of the eyes watching him in turn. 'Little minx. I have everything I could have ever wanted.' Aziraphale notices his gaze, blushing prettily. Concealing his pleased smile, he brings his coffee to his lips. 'Everything.'

“You know this is insane, right?" Anathema asks of the pair lost in a world of their own. "Don’t let Pepper know you have something like this. You’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I’m not afraid of an eleven-year-old.” Crowley scoffs, setting down his cup.

“I should call her.” Anathema taunts, pretending to reach for her phone.

“You know, I really don’t like you witch," Crowley grumbles. Somewhat relieved when said witch doesn't produce her phone.

"Dearest, might I remind you it was your idea to invite them along?” Aziraphale says matter of factly. Cutting his husband a sly smile, knowing he had just gifted Anathema ammunition.

"Ngk!" Crowley gapes at his angel. 'Right bastard, you are.'

“Awww Crowley, you do care.” Anathema mockingly coos at her friend.

“Shut it, witch. I’ma demon. I don't...” The word felt bitter on his tongue. Plucking at the old nerve that reminded him just how far one could fall. 'I'm not a demon. Not anymore. Why do I still feel like one? I am an angel. I should care. Shouldn't I? What the fuck is wrong with me? What if I'm not good enough? What if I Fall again?' He looked first at his angel, who stared at him in concern. Then to the rest, all appearing confused as to why he fell silent. “Wanted someone to keep Sera entertained is all.” Crowley finally mumbles studying the grain of their dining table. 'I can't Fall. Not again. I have to be better.'

Aziraphale saw his husband's mind turning against him. With a gentle hand, he takes Crowley's in his, lacing their fingers together. “Dearest, it will take some time getting used to the change. You don’t have to…”

He pulls his angel's hand to his lips and gives it a quick kiss before standing. “Yeah." He chews at the corner of his mouth. 'I’ll be better. You deserve better.' "I’m gonna...take a nap. Long flight.” It was the only excuse he could come up with. He needed to think. To not have everyone staring at him, pitying him. Especially his angel. Straightening his jacket, he makes to leave.

“Dearest?” Aziraphale grabs his husband's sleeve. Nearly toppling from his chair in haste. 'Whatever it is, I want to help. I am here. Let me help you.'

Crowley leans down, kissing his angel's cheek. “Stay, dove. I love you. Enjoy your dessert.”

Aziraphale watches his husband disappear from the dining room, his heart following after him. 'You are always so unkind to yourself.'

“Is he alright?” Sera asks. Confused as to why her brother's mood had darkened so suddenly. It was part of Anathema and Crowley's usual repertoire. Trying to out sass the other. Surely the slip of the mention of him having been a demon wasn't the cause.

“I am sure he will be fine,” Aziraphale says politely. Trying to smile to ease the tension in the room. Yet he couldn't. His smile fades as he glances back at the door. "I am sorry, everyone," Aziraphale says, standing to address them formally. "I seem to be rather tired, as well. Do enjoy yourselves. Should you need anything, we'll be at the rear of the aeroplane. Or our stewardess will gladly assist you. Good evening."

He doesn't wait for their response. Turning on his heels, he hurries through the massive aircraft. Hands anxiously wringing the whole way. As he reaches their door, he pauses, to take a composing breath. 'Crowley needs me calm. This is about him.' He opens the door to a dark room. Crowley was not on the bed. Linens lay undisturbed. His attention is drawn to their bathroom. He could hear water splashing against the tile. Investigating he sees his husband's clothes discarded on the floor.

Aziraphale quietly picks up the clothing, folding and placing them neatly on the counter. The shower stall was narrow, to put it mildly, but it would have to do. Removing his dress and undergarments Aziraphale adds them to the pile. Silently, as only their kind could, he shift the curtain to peer inside. Crowley was standing with his back to him. Forehead resting on the cold tile, water cascading over his shoulders. “Crowley.” Aziraphale finally says, announcing his presence.

“Be right out, angel,” Crowley answers flatly. 'I'll be better for you. I can't be that monster anymore.' The curtain slides gingerly aside. The sound of metal gliding over metal causes him to turn. Aziraphale was there, naked, smiling at him. Slipping in behind him, his angel gathers up his wet curls. “Dove, what are you…”

“Hush. Let me see to your hair.” Aziraphale scolds, still smiling. Claude Debussy’s Clair de Lune soft, soothing notes being to fill their suit. 'Allow me this. Allow me to care for you. The way you always diligently care for us.'

“You don’t…” Crowley begins to protest, though the slide of delicate fingers through his hair was more than soothing. His angel pouts up at him. “Yeah, no, go ahead.” Accepting defeat, he turns back to face the wall. Eyes downcast in shame. 'We are supposed to be on our way to a bloody much needed holiday. And before we can even get there, I have you fretting. Fucking brilliant idiot, me.'

Aziraphale allows his husband time to relax. Messaging the aromatic hair cleanser thoroughly into each strand, paying extra care to his scalp, kneading until Crowley was no longer tense. He began softly. Beloved name a whisper against his husband's ear. “Crowley... per your promise you agreed to tell me if something is wrong. And allow me to help you.”

“Its..." Crowley falls silent. 'What do I even say? I'm a shit angel? Always was? It's only a matter of time before I Fall again? I'm still not wor...' He feels his angel's arms wrap around him. A tender kiss pressed to his shoulder. 'Why do you love me?' He caresses Aziraphale's arm. Tracing down to the little black serpent coiled around his angel's finger. Black as he and his essence had been. "I thought I would feel different. More...I dunno...more...good. Still just the same cynical, cruel, angry arsehole I have been since...What does that say for my second chance?” He finally admits aloud.

Aziraphale holds him all the tighter. "Oh, my love. You may be angry, cynical, a bit vain, but you are anything but cruel. If you are asking for my opinion, I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you I adore the cynical ass that you are. Part of your charm." Aziraphale grins to himself.

'Ass?' Crowley turns suddenly, stumbling over his words, “A-Aziraphale? D-did you just…”

Aziraphale smiles coyly up at his husband. “How long have we known each other, Crowley?”

“Is this a trick question?” He grimaces at his angel's ludicrous question. Hearing his own words from that dreadful argument repeated back to him.

“Not in the least. Rinse please, dearest.” Aziraphale instructs kindly.

Crowley does as asked. Tipping his head beneath the water quickly washing his hair free of the lather. “Six thousand twenty-three years, three months, two weeks, and four days. Give or take.”

Aziraphale beams up at his husband. “And in all those years have I ever been what they would consider a good angel?” He asks, taking the conditioner in hand, pouring a generous amount into his palm.

'Good? You are what Heaven should be. What it once was.' “You are the best of them,” Crowley answers sincerely.

'You are clearly biased.' Aziraphale begins working the lotion into his husband's crimson locks. “To you, perhaps, but not to them. Not to the idea of what an angel should be, anyway. Good angels don't give away their swords, go against The Great Plan, horde books, or fall in love with the most beautiful being I have ever known." He stares into his husband's golden eyes. Trying with all that he is to convey the depths of his adoration.

'God, when you look at me like that. Maybe they ought to more like you.' “Your point?” Crowley asks, averting his gaze to the floor.

Aziraphale places his hand on his husband's chest. Letting his essence dance gently over Crowley's. "Just because you may not feel like an angel, doesn’t mean you are not one." Gingerly he takes his husband's hand and places it on his belly. "And we are blessed by God. Surely, my love, we must have done something right.”

Crowley feels the warmth of his angel and their child flutter within. What little restraint he had gives. He pulls his family into his arms. “I just...I don’t want to cock this up. I have to be better.”

“You are perfect as you are, my love." Aziraphale coos into his husband's ear. "We will figure this all out as we go. In the meantime, don’t hesitate to be who you are. I hid who I was long enough for both of us. It only served to make me utterly miserable, and I almost miss out on something that makes me truly happy. You."

‘Me, you say?' Crowley huffs a disbelieving laugh but smirks all the same. "Back to flattery are we?' Thinking on his angel's advice. 'Be who I am? Samael, Crawly, Crowley? I'm not the angel I was, and I can't be that demon anymore. Who is it that can tell me who I am? Samuel's shadow.' He thinks on the old bard's words. Crowley feels his angel in his arms, remembering their life since the almost end of everything, the moments shared with their child, Aziraphale's careless early morning smiles, hearing those three simple profound words. 'What does it bloody matter? I have everything I ever wanted. It's enough. And more than I deserve.' “Aziraphale?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Thank you," Crowley says finally.

“You are most welcome, dearest." Aziraphale slips gently from his husband's embrace. Sealing their lips in a tender lingering kiss. 'One day, my love, I hope you will see yourself as I do.' Stepping back, Aziraphale encourages Crowley to turn around, "Now hold still so I might finish your hair.”

Monday 18, January 2020  
2:00 pm

One twenty-hour flight, and an extremely competitive tournament of scrabble later, in which Aziraphale was the victor, they arrive in Nadi International Airport. They manoeuvre through immigration and customs with ease. As their luggage was already miraculously in their transport waiting outside. And a certain, former, demon would not have his pregnant angel waiting in an endless sea of humans trying not to declare that extra bottle of wine, or other contraband substances. Newt had ventured to the gift shops, gathering every pamphlet, brochure, and travel guide on Fiji they had to offer. He was nose deep in his third brochure when they exited the airport.

“It says here that early settlers of Fiji were called the Lapita People. Researchers believe that they came from either Vanuatu or the Solomon Islands. According to linguistic analysis, anyway.” Newton supplies to the group. Relying on his peripheral vision to keep up as they step into the warm Fijian air.

“Fascinating,” Crowley grumbles aloud. “Do keep all that to yourself,” he says, scanning the chaos of humans, cars, and luggage. A tall man was holding a sign that read Crowley. He was handsome, with a broad, brilliant smile, close-cropped curly black hair, blue tropical print shirt, and a name tag that read Tupou. Crowley leads the group over toward him and the large white van behind.

“Ni sa bula vinaka and warm greetings! You must be Mr Crowley.” Tupou welcomes him warmly.

“Uh, yeah, hi. Tupou is it?” Crowley says, finding the man’s bubbly cheerful reception a bit disarming.

Tupou offers his hand in a firm shake to the tall redhead. “Yes, welcome to Fiji.” Turning his attention to the pretty blond on the man’s arm, his smiles broaden all the more. “You must be Mrs Crowley. Bula vinaka, ma’am. And congratulations.”

Aziraphale returns the man’s warm smile, sweeping a hand over their little one who presses into the caress. “Thank you, Tupou. Bula vinaka? Does that mean hello?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tupou says eagerly. “Among other things. Directly translated bula means life. Though it can be used in greeting and to wish someone good health and fortune.”

“Well, isn’t that lovely. Bula, Tupou.” Aziraphale says sweetly. Holding a hand out to the rest of their companions, he introduces them.

“Bula!” Tupou greets. He excitedly goes to the van’s door and opens it. “We have a two hour trip to Pacific Harbor. From there you will board the speed boat which will take you to the resort.”

“Thank you, Tupou,” Aziraphale says for the group. Both their smiling chauffeur and Crowley offer him a hand to assist him into the vehicle.

“O sa kidavaki, Mrs Crowley.” Tupou beams. Mr Crowley cuts him a disapproving scowl from behind dark lenses, quickly taking up the seat next to his wife. Tupou chose to ignore the curt presumed warning.

Tupou assists everyone into the van. The other man sat in the passenger seat next to him. This man was far more friendly, if a bit odd. They chatted about Fiji, and it’s people the duration of the tip. He was happy to answer the man’s many, many, questions.

Their route on Queens Road took them through modern cities and quaint villages until they were out into the countryside. Majestic mountains covered in dense foliage on one side and the vast expanse of the Southern Pacific Ocean on the other. It was a sight to behold, a paradise to be sure. Aziraphale couldn't help but be reminded of Eden.

Once at the harbour, they boarded the sleek speedboat. Aziraphale nestles into Crowley’s side, wishing their equally pleasant helmswoman would slow a bit. Sera thought it was all marvellous. The salty sea spraying as the prow cuts through waves, the warm sun overhead, and the jovial Fijian music playing over the speakers was her idea of a pleasant afternoon. Poor Newt spent the majority of the trip looking a pitiful shade of green. On one particularly violent pitch of the vessel, he emptied the contents of his stomach over the side. Taking pity on the pitiable boy, Aziraphale provided a discreet blessing to settle his belly.

5:34 pm  
The Island

They arrive at the remote island just as the sky was beginning to shift to a blazing shade of orange. Pulling into a placid cove, they disembark onto a pier that leads to the main building. It was a grand bungalow, built atop a stone foundation, with teak wood walls, and a dried frond thatched roof. The entrance, like the island, was lush with palms, flowering plants, and fruit trees. A little pond ripples under a wooden bridge just before the door. Colourful fish dart to a fro.

The party is greeted by a resounding chorus of “BULA!” from the waiting staff. Music begins almost immediately. Two guitars and a ukulele provide the melody as the women clap along to a steady rhythm. Each smiling as they begin singing Bula Malaya. Two women approach the sextet, arms heavy with salusalus. Each lei plaited with paper-thin bark, indigenous flowers, and the most beautiful orchids Crowley had ever seen. The women place the sweet-scented garlands around each of their necks, welcoming them individually. Aziraphale beams with joy clapping along with the song. Yet another woman emerges, carrying a tray of coconuts containing refreshments. Aziraphale is offered his first. He accepts the presumed cocktail politely, not wanting to offend their hosts.

Seeing his angel hesitantly holding the drink Crowley leans in, “Called ahead. It’s just fruit juice.”

Aziraphale turns his brilliant smile up to his husband, “Thank you, darling.” ‘You are always ever so thoughtful.’

The song concludes with a triumphant “BULA!” Everyone, save for Crowley, applauds their spirited greeting; Aziraphale and Sera are the most exuberant. The former looks to his husband, giving him a disapproving pout. Crowley glowers his own mocking pout, before indulging his angel by joining in the ovation.

A group of beautiful young women approach as the rest of the staff disperses. Each introducing themselves to their assigned couples. Sovaia informs Aziraphale and Crowley she will be their attendant during their stay. She shows them to their magnificent villa overlooking the ocean. Explaining the amenities, dining options, including a twenty-four-hour team of chefs that will prepare anything they wish, and the activities available on the island, in great detail. A brochure to the resort’s spa is presented, to which Crowley assures her he will be contacting them later. As they end their tour in the bedroom, complete with a four-poster bed, draped with white gossamer-thin netting, adorned with a heart made of hibiscus and plumerias, Aziraphale notices the room's lacks one vital feature.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale calls to his husband who is inspecting a wreath of shells, which Sovaia identifies as the do not disturb sign.

“Yeah?” Crowley answers, absently listening to the woman at his side.

“There is no wall,” Aziraphale says, pointing nervously to the open terrace. There were two lounging beds, a private infinity pool, and, in fact, a noticeable lack of barrier between their sleeping quarters and the world beyond. ‘We can’t stay here. We’ll be carried off by insects in the night. And we couldn’t possibly make love out in the open like this. It would be obscene.’

“It is retractable, Ma’am,” Sovaia says, darting over to the wall pressing a little button. Glass panels begin to close from either side. Aziraphale gapes in amazement at the technology. Sovaia continues, “Just press this button here, and you can close or open the room. But the breeze is delightful at night. The bungalows are designed to allow our guests complete security and privacy. Along this stretch of the beach, you are the only ones allowed access. So you needn’t worry about anyone peeping."

Crowley slinks up beside his angel, whispering in Aziraphale’s ear, “Hear that, dove. Nobody will see a thing.” ‘Might just have to test that claim.’

Aziraphale blushes at his husband's implied meaning. 'Out of the question. I don't care how private they claim this place to be that contraption will remain closed.' Aziraphale makes no reply to Crowley, aside from the quick flit of his eyes to inform him, without words, that whatever he had in mind it would not be happening. He returns his attention to Sovaia. "Thank you, Ms Sovaia. My husband and I have had a very long day. If you would be so kind, we would like to freshen up before dinner."

"Yes. Your luggage has already been brought up. I will leave you to it." Sovaia says sweetly before turning for the exit.

Crowley shows her out, locking the door. Rejoining his angel, he sees Aziraphale taking in their surroundings. Fingers brushing over the flowers on the bed. He decides he would wait to miracle their nest before they slept that evening. "So?" He says, leaning against the post of their bed.

“It is so lovely here,” Aziraphale replies with an appreciative smile. "Thank you, darling. It was an excellent idea." He says, moulding into his husband's lean body. “So, what shall we do first?” He questions, with an excited little wiggle.

"Well...I have a couple of ideas…" 'None of which involve leaving this room.' "I happened to have brought your box along," Crowley informs, hoping to steer their evening towards more pleasurable pursuits.

"My…" 'What box? I don't have a…Oh no. Not Madame Tracy's present. I knew I should have done away with that vulgar thing.' "Crowley, you didn't." He pleads up at his husband with the most sincere pout.

"Whot? The harlot has decent taste. Wouldn't mind giving some of the things a try. Waste not want no, m'I right?" Crowley sees the trepidation in his angel's eyes. "Aziraphale?" He questions, only to have his angel look away. "Dove, what's wrong? If you aren't comfortable, we don't have to."

Stepping back, Aziraphale puts some distance between them. 'You have always been the more adventurous one.' "Dearest? Are...are you...is there something...are you unsatisfied?"

"Whot? No!" Crowley shouts. He grasps his angel's hand, "I'm satisfied Aziraphale. More than satisfied. Just curious is all. If you want me to, I'll burn the damn thing."

'Curious. You are always curious. And I know you wouldn't do anything I wasn't in agreement with. We have experimented before.' "Alight. Perhaps later, then. Would you...explain some of the contents to me?"

Though Aziraphale only showed him the once he remembers most of what the box contained. Most of which was fairly straight forward. "No. Yeah. Sure. Now?" He asks, not wanting to rush his angel.

"Yes, please," Aziraphale says, steeling himself, feeling a bit like Pandora from the old tale.

Crowley goes to their bags, producing the object of interest. He sets it down beside his angel on the bed. Removing the lid, he provides Aziraphale time to inspect the objects from a distance.

"Why would someone gift another person...sexual implements?" Aziraphale asks, looking at a rather intimidating phallic replica.

"It's not as weird as you think these days," Crowley informs, enjoying his angel's naivety. 'Maybe if you were in control? Might make it less intimidating.' "You could use them on me first if you like. Might help." Crowley offers, intrigued by the idea.

"I…" 'Could. I wouldn't know where to begin. I think that would only serve to make me more nervous.' "No. I don't think I could." 'Not at first, anyway.'' "Maybe, once I am a bit more familiar."

"Don't worry, dove. I'd rather watch you come undone anyway."

"Crowley...what is...what is that?" He asks, pointing quickly to one oddly shaped object as if it might leap from the box and bite him.

Crowley takes up the item in question, holding it up for inspection. "Uhhh...so this goes...in the... rear entrance."

"Oh," Aziraphale says considering the metal object. "Well, we have already done that." He says, looking back to the other items, missing his husband's amused expression completely. There were two little clamps, connected by a thin chain. Aziraphale withdrew them, turning them over in his hand, at a loss as to what one would do with such a thing. "What are these for?" He asks his husband.

'Not sure you are ready for all that, angel.' "You sure you want to know?" Crowley asks, giving Aziraphale an incredulous look.

"How do I know if I want to try them if I don't know what they are?" Aziraphale demands, handing the peculiar object to his husband.

"Right." Crowley took either clap in each hand. Opening and closing them, thinking about how to explain delicately. "These go on your uh…nipples."

"Whatever for?" Aziraphale frowns at the idea.

"Feels good, I suppose," Crowley answers casually. Deciding further explanation may scandalize his angel.

'Might hold off on that for later. My breasts are far too tender as it is.' Aziraphale can feel Crowley watching his every move. "Is there anything...that is..." He begins hesitantly. There were several items he could only imagine their use, which he would prefer not to confirm. 'Since when are torture instruments arousing?' "is there anything in here that you want to...try?"

"Dove." Crowley scolds. 'I'm only interested if you are.'

"It is an earnest question, my love." 'Surely you have some inclination. You wouldn't have brought this otherwise. '

"Well." Crowley sighs, rifling through the contents. Three items gave him pause. Unable to bring himself to touch them. The thought of using such cruel objects on his angel made his stomach protest violently. 'I couldn't. But...what if you want me to?' He glances to his angel, watching him nervously. 'Start small. Work our way up.' He settles on the least threatening piece of the collection. Holding it up for his angel.

"This?" Aziraphale asks in surprise. It was a simple black satin sash. 'What on earth does one do with this?'

"Yeah. Could be fun." Crowley says, encouraged, as his angel didn't so far appear put off.

"It's just a sash," Aziraphale says, still perplexed.

"Here." Crowley takes the fabric from his angel. Bringing it up to cover Aziraphale's eyes, he ties it gently. Aziraphale doesn't protest or shy away. Instead, his angel sits primly, as if expecting something to happen. 'So far, so good.'

'A blindfold? Hold a tick. Why a blindfold? What does my sight have to do with anything?' Aziraphale considers the possibilities. His husband's hand caressing up his thigh, warm breath against his skin, he, unable to see what Crowley might do next. The thought alone awakens his need. "Oh! I can see how this would be tempting."

Crowley feels the little spark of interest from his angel. Stealthy he sneaks in, stealing a kiss. Aziraphale gasps against his lips before returning the gesture. As his angel reaches out for him, he pulls away. "Extremely tempting." He purrs low in Aziraphale's ear. The little shiver it elicits tells him all he needs to know. The pulses of need rolling into him merely a scintillating confirmation.

Aziraphale's mouth goes dry. "Wily Serpent." he breathes, already aching for more. The bed shifts beside him. "Crowley?" He asks, hands searching the emptiness where his husband had been.

"Right here, dove," Crowley answers low and enticing. Silently he stalks around his angel. Drawing out the anticipation.

The stillness of the room was agonizing. All of his senses heighten, trying as they might to perceive anything. His husband wasn't far. Aziraphale could still smell his subtle calming scent, feel his warmth nearing. Reaching out towards the source, it shifts away. "Crowley, I…" Suddenly his neck is claimed with a sweep of tongue. Startled, his breath catches as Crowley tugs at the cord that held his dress closed. The pads of his husband's fingers slowly draw the garment open, and down his arms. "Oh, my love." Aziraphale sighs, his skin alight with desire.

The pulses of need bore into his essence, encouraging his own. "My insatiable, angel," Crowley growls, kissing supple exposed shoulder.

A knock comes at the door. Aziraphale removes the blindfold, casting it aside. Instantly miracling Tracy's gift back into their suitcase. Eyes wide with panic, he gathers up his dress to cover himself. "There's someone at the door." He whispers harshly to Crowley. Praying they didn't have a mind to just barge in.

Crowley looks from the door then to his very willing, very eager angel, or at least had been but a moment ago. Sneering his displeasure with a dramatic roll of his head, he resigns himself to deal with whoever dared interrupt. 'You have got to be bloody kidding me.' “Somebody had better be dead." He groans miserably. "Yes?”

“Mr and Mrs Crowley?" Comes Sovaia's voice.

"Hold that thought, dove. Be right back." He says, giving his angel a quick peck as a promise to rekindle the moment, before sulking to the door. Intending on making the woman comprehend this egregious error she committed he flings the open the door with a harsh bark of, “Whot?”

"I apologize for disturbing you, sir. It completely slipped my mind to inform you the Kava Ceremony is about to begin at the Banyan restaurant.” Sovaia informs tensely.

"Kava ceremony?" Aziraphale inquires, after having made himself presentable. Peering over his husband's shoulder, his brows lift in interest.

Sovaia answers, encouraged by the woman's interest. "Yes. Here we celebrate new arrivals to the island with a traditional Kava Ceremony. Yaqona or kava root is dried and powdered, mixed with water, and offered to our guests. It is a Fiji tradition. A sign of goodwill and hospitality. Then after we will serve you dinner and move on to our evening's entertainment."

"Doesn't that sound lovely," Aziraphale says before his husband could refuse. 'Sorry, my love. I will make it up to you later.' "We will be there in two shakes of a lamb's tail." Sovaia gives a nob before leaving them once more.

Aziraphale and Crowley make their way to the restaurant. Their path lit by torches. The sound of waves crashing on the shore mingles with the chirps, clicks, and buzzing of the island's nocturnal inhabitants. The sky above was beginning to gleam with the faint twinkle of Crowley's stars.

The restaurant was easy to find in the near darkness. Signs directed them through the labyrinth of walkways. The building's warm glow came into sight, acting as a beacon harkening to any would-be patrons. Upon entering the restaurant, the room erupts in the spirited Fijian greeting. Their friends are all gathered around a table, colourful cocktails in hand.

Anathema is the first to speak, holding her drink aloft in greeting. “Glad you two could join us!”

"Couldn't let you lot have all the fun," Crowley says, assisting his angel into an available chair.

“Are you all finding everything to your liking?” Aziraphale asks of the group.

“It’s stunning here, and the humans are so kind. Why don’t you two live in a place like this? You’re angels. You can live anywhere you wish.” Sera asks, already a bit tipsy from her half-consumed beverage.

“We can go anywhere we want. We choose to live in England. It is as much a home as we have ever had. S’got everything we need. Right, angel?” Crowley explains for both of them, sliding an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. His angel leans into the embrace, resting against him. 'Kid ought'a like it too.'

“Precisely, my love,” Aziraphale says contentedly. ‘I am so glad we are in agreement.’

“If you are allowed, perhaps one day you would like to visit my home in Malibu?” Ysabel proposes the idea to Sera.

“I would love t...I-I would have to get permission first.” Sera’s bubbly demeanour deflates at knowing such things may not be possible. Her duty directs she remains with her bother and his family. After the events of the New Year, she wouldn’t trust anyone else to take her post. Even for a short while.

“I understand Mi corazón,” Ysabel says with a gentle caress down Sera’s cheek. Her lover’s amber eyes convey her apology. Having none of it Ysabel leans in, kissing her Seraph to reassure all was well.

A stocky man approaches their table. He, like everyone else on the island, greets them with a warm smile. “Good evening, everyone. My name is Joni. I will be leading the Kava Ceremony today. We will begin the festivities in a moment, but first I am here to acquaint you with your role in the ceremony. Have any of you attended a Kava Ceremony before?” Their party all indicate they haven’t with a unified shake of their heads. Continuing Joni explains, “The Kava Ceremony centres around the communal Kava tanoa. We will have you sit in a circle while I will prepare the Kava. I will then present a cup for each member of the group to drink in order of age. It is traditional to go in order of social standing, but we find this method more agreeable. Who here is the eldest?”

Everyone looks to the angels present. Sera points to Crowley with a sly smirk, knowing nobody would believe a word of what she was about to say. “My brother is the second being ever created. He goes first.”

Joni had figured the gentleman was the eldest, but it was only polite to ask. The sister’s comment reminded him of his own obnoxious loving siblings. He gave a little chuckle before asking who was next. They all answered honestly. Joni was half convinced the man’s sister was lying about being second in line but didn’t dispute the claim. When at last they had their appropriate order, he led them over to a large woven mat in the centre of the room. Other staff, some from their morning greeting, join them on the provided cushions. Joni had a large bowl with four sturdy legs placed before him. Another participant brings over a cloth and water. All watch in fascination as they prepare for the ritual.

“This is the Fijian way of formally greeting you. Anyone who comes here and takes part in the ceremony is part of our family. When I present you the cup clap once and yell bula then drink. Most guests don’t like the flavour so much, so it is best, and traditional, to drink it all at once. When you have finished clap three more times say ma’tha.” Joni instructs as he begins to make the drink. He works the cloth containing the powdered root while his assistant pours water. The mixture that drains into the bowl is a murky, golden brown, and not appetizingly scented.

'I've got all the family I need. Bloody get this over with.' “Clap once, bula, drink, clap three times, ma’tha?” Crowley asks, more so to clarify for himself, so Sera or Anathema wouldn't have a laugh at his expense.

“Yes. Kava has a mild sedative effect. You should feel pleasantly relaxed after. Your mouth will most likely be numb for a few minutes after. Nothing to be alarmed over. It will go away.” Joni supplies. Strong hands kneading and squeezing the substance.

“Is this safe for my wife?” Crowley asks, knowing none of the baby books even mentioned such a thing.

“As your wife is pregnant, it is not recommended. Kava is not habit-forming, and local women have only recently avoided it during their pregnancy, but it could affect your baby. If you would like Mrs Crowley, I will substitute the kava for coconut water.” Joni offers.

“It will be quite alright. I will just observe.” Aziraphale says, somewhat sad he will have to miss out on the experience. He could see Crowley was about to refuse as well, so he spoke first, "My husband will just have to drink on both of our behalfs."

“Very well, ma’am.” Joni continues his task until the bowl is filled with the liquid. Satisfied with his work, he takes up a cup made from the shell of a coconut, filling it, and presenting it to Mr Crowley.

'Right. Cheers.' Clapping as instructed Crowley takes the cup. Reciting the word, he drinks. The drink is bitter, earthy, with a slight peppery taste on the back end. Glad it wasn’t mean for sipping he drinks quickly. Grimacing at the flavour, he hands the coconut back to Joni and completes the ritual. “That was a dose.” he coughs, pleased when the after taste doesn’t linger. 'Rather drink holy water. Shit. Hellfire.'

“What’s it like?” Sera inquires with trepidation at her brother’s reaction.

“Like drinking mud and black pepper,” Crowley says feeling the first effects of the kava set in. “My mouth is numb.” 'Why would someone choose to drink it?'

Everyone, save for Aziraphale drinks, all reacting similarly as Crowley had. Newt’s stomach, having already been tortured on the boat trip over, nearly betrays him again. It takes him several attempts, and one mumbled “God help me,” before he can empty the small shell. The Ceremony concludes with cheers, laughter, and everyone being welcomed to the family before they being released for dinner, which is promptly served, to Aziraphale’s delight.

The fare was elegantly presented. All locally sourced, their waiter informs. Prawns with togarashi, soy mayo, kimchi, and mustard cress comprise the first course. A generous helping of grilled mahi-mahi, spring pea risotto, chorizo, and lemon beurre blanc sauce follows. Crowley all the while intently enjoying the feast for his eyes, his angel never fails to deliver. When at last they are served dessert the waiter explains it to be Vakasoso. A banana-like fruit drowned in thick coconut milk, topped with coconut shavings.

Aziraphale hums his appreciation for the delicately sweet offering. When he finishes, Crowley quickly exchanges their plates. Assuring Aziraphale, it was for purely selfish reasons. This, too, was eaten, with just as much enthusiasm as the first. Crowley watching hungrily all the while.

When their plates are cleared, and everyone sits nursing their drinks, Crowley draws Aziraphale into his arms. Keeping the promise he made to their child. A song played overhead that he had no idea what the singer was saying, but the tune was decent, so it would do. They swayed together. Each time they danced his angel became a bit more confident. Crowley was just about to dip his angel when the music dies. Crowley searches their surroundings. Ready to rail at the person who disturbed their dance. A loud drum booms out from the corner of the room. Startling Aziraphale, and himself, though he would never admit to it.

A procession of women walk in, dressed in intricately patterned skirts, silk blouses, and flowers tucked into their hair. The men that follow are garbed in skirts made of the same wide stips of paper-thin bark as the salusalus. Bands of leaves adorning their upper arms, ankles and wrists. All wear matching salusalus. Faces decorated with black spots or stripes on their cheeks and forehead, or some variation thereof.

Crowley guides Aziraphale from their makeshift dance floor to the table, mumbling a curse at the second interruption that evening. 'Bloody well rude.' He sits, drawing his angel in his lap, glaring at the group who stand before them. The women hold woven teardrop-shaped fans, men brandishing blunted spears. The third group of performers are musicians, who begin to pound their wooden percussion instruments to a lively rhythm. As before, clapping and singing soon join. The women are the first to dance. Stepping in time with the music, they gesture with their hands and fans. It is captivating, in a word.

The women finish their dance, replaced by the men. Their presentation is far more exhilarating, even fearsome. Newt after asking their waitress informs the group this dance is called the Butuvanua. Telling of Degei, their most highly venerated serpent God and his royal canoe. Crowley expects the dancers to portray the God as a vicious, evil, bastard, intent on making everyone's lives miserable. And though the story is lost on him, he sees no fear or hatred towards the serpent. 'Odd people.'

The entertainment continues much the same. Various traditional dances and songs performed in succession. By the fourth performance, Crowley has lost interest. Without realizing what his hands were doing, he begins caressing his angel’s belly. The aqua blue dress his angel wore left a good portion of pale shoulder exposed. A temptation he currently had no will, nor desire, to refuse. His lips swept feather-light over Aziraphale’s skin. Goosebumps prickling in his wake. ‘You are so beautiful. God, I love you. Right lucky bastard, me.’ Crowley draws starlight curls away from his angel’s neck. Peppering kisses in all the little spots he knows ignites Aziraphale’s desire.

Aziraphale shudders under his husband’s attention. If they were alone, he wouldn’t think twice about giving in to Crowley’s advances. As things currently stand, they were beginning to draw attention from the performance. ‘What are you doing? You know very well by now what that does to me.’ “Dearest we are in public.” Aziraphale scolds, though doesn’t shift away.

“And? Just need to kiss you, is all. I love you. Do you have any idea how fucking irresistible you are?” Crowley asks, giving the shell of his angel’s ear a quick nip.

“Language! Crowley are you intoxicated?” Aziraphale asks, remembering Joni had mentioned the kava had sedative effects.

Crowley assesses his corporation. ‘I didn’t drink alcohol. Don’t feel drunk. Feel pretty damn good actually.’ “Don't think so. I can think clearly. I just feel...relaxed? Dunno. Feels great though. It’s a root, right? Think we can grow it back home? Maybe in the greenhouse. You are so beautiful, Aziraphale.” He says burying his nose in soft ringlets. Breathing in honey and warm summer days, he hugs his angel to him.

‘I was going to make it up to you.’ “Do we need to retire for the evening?” Aziraphale proposes, offering his husband a chance to steal him away.

“You wouldn’t mind?” Crowley asks. Cursing himself for how pitiful he sounds. ‘I know you would prefer to stay until the end of the performance.’

Aziraphale stands gracefully, drawing their friend’s attention. “Goodnight everyone. We hope to see you at breakfast in the morning.” He says, offering a hand to Crowley who looks a bit stunned. “Coming, dearest?”

Needing no further encouragement, Crowley is on his feet, ushering his angel from the restaurant in an instant. Throwing a “Ciao!” over his shoulder as they exit into the night. His isn’t sure the reason, besides the obvious temptation Aziraphale offers just by existing, but he feels ravenous. Hungry to worship every inch of Aziraphale’s perfection. To hear his name fall from divine lips as his angel writhes beneath him. It’s everything he has not to find a secluded portion of the path and have Aziraphale then and there. He forces himself to keep a leisurely pace. ‘Could just miracle us there. No, Aziraphale would probably be pissed. The blindfold. Will you let me? Can’t hurt to ask. You seemed to enjoy it earlier. What else could I get you to agree to? I could…'

“Penny for your thoughts, dearest?” Aziraphale asks with a coquettish grin.

Caught mid-thought Crowley is at a loss for words, “Ngk, I uh…” ‘Get it together.’ “Just thinking about…You know...stuff." 'Oh smooth Crowley. Stuff?'

'I'm stuff now, am I?' "Do share. Whatever it is must be fascinating. You haven't uttered a single word since we left the restaurant." Aziraphale says coyly.

"You are fascinating," Crowley blurts out without thinking. Realizing his error, he tries to come up with a cover, nearly tripping on a pebble in the process. Composing himself quickly, he straightens his jacket. "M'alright." 'Satan's ballocks. What the Hell is wrong with me? It's that damn drink.'

"Crowley." Aziraphale stops, facing his husband.

"Yeah, angel?" Crowley answers in defeat. 'Might as well own up to my deviant lectures thoughts.'

"I'd very much like to pick up where we left off earlier," Aziraphale says, stepping closer to his husband. Playing with the silvery scarf around Crowley's neck, he peers up at him through his lashes. "That is...if you are up to...Oooo!"

They materialize in the foyer of their villa. Crowley presses Aziraphale against the wall, mouths joining as he cradles his angel’s cheeks. Tongues eagerly meet, while Aziraphale’s nails raking over his back. Instantly sharp pulses of desire roll through him, beckoning him on. Crowley devours the first moan that resonates from his angel, who still tastes of the sweet coconut dessert. Seeking lower to awaiting curve of exquisit neck Crowley purrs, “Is this alright, angel?” before taking the delicate flesh into his mouth, teeth grazing gently, promising more at Aziraphale’s command.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Aziraphale whispers into the darkness of the room.

Crowley once more pulls at the little cord keeping his angel’s dress closed, slipping it off alabaster shoulders to pool around Aziraphale’s feet. His mouth focused on exploring the curve of his angel’s jaw, as one hand snakes around to deftly unclasp the restrictive undergarment. Blue lace is cast aside. Both hands dip beneath the fabric of panties to grasp a hold of his angel’s ample bottom. His effort painfully hard withing the confines of his leather trousers.

Almost as instantly as the idea forms, Crowley finds the black satin in his hand. With one last kiss to pliant lips, he steps away. He encourages his angel to turn around so he could slip the sash over Aziraphale’s eyes. When it is secure, he purrs low in his angel’s ear, "I need you to trust me, dove."

Though the haze of desire Aziraphale hears the request. It takes a moment for his mind to catch up. ‘Trust?’ "I trust you, implicitly, my love," Aziraphale says, heart, thrumming with anticipation.

"Thank you, dove," Crowley whispers, pressing a tender kiss to his angel’s neck. Pulses of need and excitment surge into him, demanding more. Lacing their fingers together, he carefully guides Aziraphale into their bedroom. He stops them just before the bed. “Be right back. Will you wait here for me?” Crowley asks of his angel, who stands nervously still.

“Yes.” Aziraphale sighs, feeling his husbands hand slip from his. He was safe with only Crowley to see him, but without his sight, he feels vulnerable in a way he never had before. He can hear his husband rustling through something over his left shoulder, and yet he wasn’t saying a word. ‘What on Earth are you doing? You were so eager, just a moment ago.’

Nearly nude as he was he begins to feel self-conscious. Though Crowley had expressed, many times now, fondness over his softer plump corporation, a seed of doubt that lingers. Thoughts of cruel purple eyes squinting in revulsion at his form causes him covers his breast, as best he could. ‘Crowley asked me to wait. I can do this. It is only the two of us here. Nothing to be alarmed over. Crowley loves me. He’s just…’ Crowley went silent. Aziraphale’s senses, he still has use of, reach out. The air around him is cold but tolerable. The room smelled of his beautiful husband, but as a room would when someone had recently passed through. There was no creaking of floorboards or soft fall of feet for him to glean Crowley’s whereabouts. ‘Did he leave? Surely not. Crowley wouldn’t have left without says so. Not with me like this. I have to wait here.’

Crowley watches his angel from the corner. Desire ebbing towards worry, possibly even fear for the briefest of moments. The slight tilt of Aziraphale’s head and little nervous tremble would have been missed by a lesser being. When ample breast are covered, he wanted to say something, but the silent wait was part of the plan. Muscles in Aziraphale’s legs twitched as if about to move but stopped. The moonlight that filtered into the room from the large glass panels seemed to glow all the brighter as it touched ethereal skin. ‘You have no idea, do you? Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, Did my heart fly at your service.’

Aziraphale gasps as lips brush against his own. In his surprise, he sways towards the contact. Warm, gentle hands steady him, bracing him by his arms. “Crowley?” he asks, knowing the answer.

"Just me, dove. Will you give me your hand?" he requests, waiting for his angel’s response.

Aziraphale nods, letting go of his breasts, he offers his right hand. He feels Crowley turns it palm up. Anticipating a kiss, or some other caress he is confused when an object is given instead.

"I need your permission to use this," Crowley asks in the low timbre he knows his angel can’t resist. Desire dances with apprehension with each wave that crashes into Crowley's essence.

Aziraphale inspects the item, identifying it with ease. “A feather?” ‘What in Heaven’s name for?’

"Yes," Crowley answers smoothly.

‘It’s just a feather. I wonder who’s?’ "You have my permission." Aziraphale agrees. The feather is gently taken from him.

"I want to use this, as well," Crowley says, turning his angel’s palm up again.

Something cold drops into his hand. Aziraphale has to fight the instinct to pull away at the shock to his senses. Water pools in his palm and he realizes what it is. "Ice?" He asks, holding it out for his husband to reclaim.

"Yes," Crowley says allowing the cube melt in his angel’s warm hand.

"Alright." Aziraphale breathes. Still at a loss for what purposes the objects would be employed.

‘Ok. Nothing to it. Used something similar before.’ "And this," Crowley purrs.

Behind the satin, Aziraphale scrunches his face as he feels the new object. It was firm, smooth, not particularly warm or cold. One end was blunt, the other a bit tapered. "I don't know what this is." Aziraphale finally admits holding it out towards his husband. Crowley closes his fingers around the item just as a strong vibration comes to life. Recoiling from the gadget as if it were about to explode in his hand, it slips from his grasp. He tries to reach for it, but without the use of his eyes, he grabs empty air. He does not hear the telltale thud against wood below. Relieved, knowing his husband must have caught it. "So sorry." he apologizes with a hand over his mouth. “Startled me.”

Crowley fights to keep from laughing. Though most of his angel’s face was covered the flush of pink that bled down his Aziraphale’s neck in embarrassment was ever so endearing. "I need an answer, dove." he purrs inches away from his angel’s ear; pleased by the shiver it causes.

"Yes." Aziraphale whispers, turning his head so he might kiss his husband.

Crowley saw the subtle part of expectant lips, felt each rapid pulse of Aziraphale's need. His angel had already done so well with his game he nearly gives in, but there was one more request he had to ask. "Dove, I need you to lay down and keep very still. Will you do that for me?"

‘Lay still? Am I just supposed to lay there and let you use those things? This must be why you asked for my trust. I do trust you. Am I not allowed to move at all? I like touching you. Is that allowed?’ "Can I touch you?" Aziraphale pouts the question.

Crowley smirks, "No, dove. If you touch me, I stop. Part of the game. You have to keep very…very...” Crowley eases in a breath away from his angel’s lips, “still. Will you be good for me, dove?"

Aziraphale could feel his husband’s nearness. The warmth of his body so agonizingly close. ‘This is a challenge. Don’t move. He asked you to be still.’ Trembling with the little restraint he has, he does as asked. "Alright."

Crowley rewards his angel by closing the minute gap. Aziraphale whimpers at the connection but doesn’t move. Deeping the kiss, just to be sure. Hands push delicate panties over his angel’s plump hips and thighs, his angel remains still. Though the agonizing pulses of need told him Aziraphale wants to do anything but. “Thank you, dove. That is my good angel.” Taking Aziraphale's hand, he turns them towards the bed. Scooping his angel up he gently deposits Aziraphale onto the centre of the mattress.

Crowley left him there. The bed dips beside him, and Aziraphale knows he will have to endure once more. This time he hears the familiar sound of Crowley’s jacket being removed before dropped to the floor. The snakehead belt clicking as it is opened, followed by the sound of leather scraping against leather. His effort, already aching, begins to throb with need. Aziraphale squeezes his thighs together, hands fisted in the bedding, desperate for friction.

Shedding his shirt, Crowley watches his waiting angel. When legs begin to close, he steps near, “I need you to keep your legs open for me, dove.” Once Aziraphale complies, Crowley sits on the bed. Taking up the ebony feather, he is careful to allow only the very tip to ghost over his angel’s bottom lip.

Though the touch was faint, it lit a fire in his corporation, pooling in his core. The feather trailed down, over his chin, down the centre of his throat, then over his collarbone. It was sensual in its simplicity. Knowing he agreed not to move made him yearn to all the more. Fighting against the urge, he feels the feather trace down his arm. He relaxed his hand in the bedding, letting his husband traverse there as well. On its return, Crowley skims along the inner, highly sensitive, underside of his arm. Aziraphale bites down on his lip to keep from wriggling away.

Crowley watches each muscle that tenses, each hitch in his angel’s breathing, focuses him all the more. He draws the feather between his angel’s breasts, causing his own breathing stall. The tip of the feather is brought up and around the underside of the right breast. Circling before flitting over perk flushed bud. His angel’s head list to the side. Bottom lip worried harshly between his angel’s teeth. Agony surges through him, echoed by pleasure in equal measure. Turning his attention to the other breast he repeats, paying the other it’s due. The muscles of his angel’s inner thighs constrict in response. He could take pitty and give Aziraphale the release his angel’s body demands. But this feast for the eyes was one to be savoured to it’s fullest.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how much more he could endure. His overwhelming need for his husband was burning within him. He wanted to be kissed, held, filled as only Crowley could. When the feather began to trail lower, he whimpers pitifully. ‘Still. I have to be still. Crowley asked me to be still.’ The course diverts, travelling over his hip, down his thigh and over his shin. As it crosses to his inner ankle, the pace, he was just becoming accustomed to slows. Moving upwards only fast enough to keep from being idle. By the time it reaches his inner thigh, his whole body is trembling.

When the feather traces over his mound, he feels the prickle of tears from frustration. The glide over either side of his folds was maddening. As it whisps over the seam, Aziraphale keens, “Crowley, please...I don’t think...I need…”

“Do you want me to stop?” Crowley asks, flicking the little pearl that peaks through.

“No! I just…It's too much...no...not enough. Please." He begs.

“You are being so good for me. I promise I will see to your complete satisfaction. Do you trust me, dove?” Crowley asks with another flick.

“Yes.” Aziraphale keens.

“May I continue?” Crowley asks to be certain.

“Yes, I will be good.” Aziraphale whispers, willing his legs wider apart.

“Thank you, dove.” Crowley sets the feather aside, claiming a cube of ice. One which may have been miracled unmeltable. Crowley shifts, positioning himself between his angel’s thighs, remaining just out of reach. Placing the cube between his teeth, he brings it to his angel’s lips. He follows his previous path. Flushed skin would have already burned its way through any ordinary ice by the time it reached his angel’s elbow.

The heat from his husband’s breath contrasted with the ice in a maddening symphony of sensations. He could feel Crowley’s warmth radiating against his arousal. As wicked as the feather had been, this was unmerciful. Aziraphale dug his heels into the mattress to keep his thighs parted as instructed. Hands fisted painfully tight in the bedding. The ice traces under his right breast, coming up to glide around his nipple. His body screaming in surprise, as the ice slips away and his breast is claimed by the heat of his husband’s mouth.

Hands reflexively go to his husband’s hair, tangling in firey curls just as they had the duvet. Crowley stops. Mouth unceremoniously releasing his breast. Aziraphale heaves gasping whimpers, body tense at the loss of all sensation, save for the strands he desperately clings to. “Crowley please, please don’t stop. Please, I need you.”

Crowley hadn’t anticipated the reaction, though in hindsight he supposed he should have. He remains still, allowing his angel to relax a moment before speaking. “What are the rules, dove?”

‘Rules! I don’t...I have to stay still. I have to be good. Still, be still, be still.’

“Dove?” Crowley calls softly.

Realizing just now he still had his hands buried in his husband’s hair he releases. Throwing his hand’s back to grip the bedding, “I will be good, Crowley I p-promise. I won’t move. P-please don’t stop.” Aziraphale pleads with soft gasping sobs.

‘This is working out far better than I imagined.’ “I am right here, dove. You are being so good for me. And you will have everything you need soon.” he promises, rewarding his angel with a kiss, selfishly satiating his own need. ‘Just a bit more. I know you have it in you.’

Crowley reclaims the ice, bowing his body to see to the other breast. Drawing out the process to get his angel back on the edge of pleasure and agony. This time he doesn’t release the ice. Instead, he journeys down, over his angel’s belly, to the opposite hip from before. He shifts off the bed in a fluid movement as only one who is part snake could. Stopping at Aziraphale’s knee, he diverts up, dragging the ice slowly toward his angel’s already slick arousal. He sees the tremble, hears the gasping sobs. His heart aches for his angel’s state but knows the pleasure still to be had.

The ice slips over his angel’s effort, gliding back through Aziraphale’s folds until he finds the swollen bundle of nerves. Pressing the cube against it, his angel begins to shift away with a gasp, before regaining control. He holds it there, letting the cold seep into the heated flesh. Each moment that passes, his angel’s legs helplessly draw in on him.

“Crowley...Crowley please...it’s too much…” Aziraphale sobs, tears dampening the confounding blindfold.

Crowley drops the ice, mouth closing around the bud, sucking and flicking with his tongue. He senses his angel near the summit in an instant. Wanting to both bring his angel to completion, and draw this out as long as possible, Crowley teeters on indecision. Aziraphale’s decides for him. Thighs graze against his ears, forcing him to withdraw.

Aziraphale wants to scream. He was on the edge. Had he not broken the rules, Crowley seemed as though he would have given him relief. Body convulsing with unfulfilled ecstasy he weeps aloud. Glad that the damnable blindfold concealed his tears.

“Dove, if you need this to end, all you need is to say it. I will do whatever you want.”

“No. Please don’t stop. I am enjoying it...I’m just...just…” “Please continue.”

“I love you so much, dove. Just a little more.”

Aziraphale nods, willing his legs parted, arms tight to his side, hands nearly ripping the white blanket. He steadies his breathing, preparing for what is to come. Something smooth is pressed between his folds. Knowing well what it is, his breath catches in this throat.

Crowley switches on the little device. His angel’s body locks, heels digging into the bed. Pressing the smooth gadget firmly against his angel, he waits. High pitch keens echo through their villa, Aziraphale whimpering his name in rapid succession. His own effort demanding his attention. As his angel nears the peak once more, he slides the toy to Aziraphale’s entrance, mouth reclaiming its prize. He presses just inside, angling it just so to hit that hidden apex.

Aziraphale feeling it. Like a dam bursting, his release finds him. He is lost to it, drowning in it. His whole body erupting in joyous relief. Stars dance behind his eyes. He hears someone giggling, only to discover it is himself. Unsure how much times passes he feel his husband hovering over him, slipping the blindfold off.

“You okay, dove?” Crowley asks, wiping away the tears that cling to his angel’s eyes.

Dazed from his climax, and still giggling, Aziraphale forgets his husband’s rules. Rising up, he claims Crowley’s mouth, pulling him down to him. “I still need you.” He urges, before finding the button of his husband’s trousers.

Taken by surprise Crowley has to throw his arms out to brace himself from collapsing on his angel. Feeling the zipper of his leathers forced down, he thinks quickly. Grasping Aziraphale by the hips, he shifts them both to the edge of the bed. Sapphire eyes, dark with desire stare up at him. Freeing himself from his trousers, he does as the silent command bids.

Aziraphale feels his husband thrust inside. His effort clenches in response. The sensation of being filled so completely forces a groan from deep within his throat. A warm glow catches his attention. Above him, six fiery wings unfurl. Casting the rest of the room in shadow. “Please,” he whispers softly.

Crowley begins to move. Hips canting up, determined to bring his angel back to the impossible heights. His wings dip forward, grazing over his angel’s sides sending flashes of euphoria coursing through them both. It is all he can do to keep a steady rhythm as they spiral upward.

Aziraphale clings to Crowley. Mind once again lost to bliss. Moaning his husband’s name, he knows he is close. Crowley is panting above him. Brow furrowed with concentration. ‘Let go, my love.’ Aziraphale plunges his hands into the flame. Nails biting in where ebony wings once connected.

Their release is found together. Crowley growls low, spilling deep withing his angel. Hands clenched, bruisingly hard into Aziraphale’s hips. The shockwaves of climax keep coming. His angel’s grip unrelenting, body locked around him. Just when he can take no more, he is released. His angel lay still, splayed out before him.

Slipping free, he miracles them resting in their nest. Their tartan blanket was drawn upon around his angel’s shoulders he has gathered to his chest. “Dove?” he asks, sweeping his thumb over resting cheek. A little smile is his only response. “Sleep well, angel. I love you.”


	42. Sun, Fun, and Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LOTS OF FLUFF! And two pieces of art.

Crowley was up before dawn's first light crested over the horizon. His angel hadn't stirred in his arms the whole of the night. Soft, delicate features are upturned towards him. Flush lips subtly parted, tempting him for a kiss. Bringing the backs of his fingers up, he sweeps the lightest of caresses up his Aziraphale’s slightly flushed cheek. ‘As daylight doth a lamp. Your eye in heaven; would through the airy region stream so bright. That birds would sing and think it were not night.’ The corners of his angel’s mouth quirks in a sleepy smile. He withdraws his hand, not wishing to disturb Aziraphale’s peaceful sleep.

Crowley miracles away, seeing that there were sufficient pillows to replace his absence. Aziraphale hums dreamily, head-turning to nestle more into the bedding. Smiling to himself, Crowley slips from the room. He makes a series of calls. First to Anathema and Sera to inform them they would be missing breakfast. Then to order for all his angel’s favourite breakfast items to be brought to their room. Lastly, to the spa to make sure all of Aziraphale’s comfort is properly seen too. After all, they had been through as of late he figured it was at least a start.

He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale would want one, but he draws a bath just in case. Filling it with fragrant salts and oil. A rolled towel is added to one end for his angel’s neck. In the little cupboard, he finds a plush robe and slippers. He brings them into the bedroom, laying them on their nest, at the ready. Outside he sees a bush of red hibiscus. Cursing his incompetence under his breath, he steps out onto the terrace and calls the main office building again. His fastidious order is given to the woman. Who assures him every effort would be given to meet his request.

There is a rustling of fabric over his shoulder. His angel stirs then lays still once more. Aziraphale releases a little sigh, “I love you, Crowley.” Though he had heard those words a thousand time by now, he felt as though the world stopped. He crosses back to the bed to lean against the post. ‘That you would dream of me. I love you, my angel. God, I love you.’

He wasn’t sure how long he watched his angel sleep. As far as Crowley was concerned, he would have enjoyed this quiet moment the rest of the day if his angel needed the rest. It wasn’t until a knock came at their door that his attention shifts away. Not wanting another knock to disturb Aziraphale he rushes to answer. Opening, he finds a man pushing a cart with covered dishes and a bouquet of flowers. Crowley shushes the man before inspecting the food. When everything passes his meticulous inspection, he pulls the cart inside. The man wanted to protest, but Crowley sent him on his way with a threatening glare.

Glad for the silence of the retractable panels Crowley opens the villa. The food is placed on the little table on the terrace, along with the flowers. He would have to thank the human who created the arrangement. He wouldn’t have been able to do a better job himself. Satisfied with the presentation, he returns to their nest. Pillows banished from whence they came he reclaims his family. Taking for himself a few more moments of pure worship.

Leaning down, Crowley kisses his angel’s. He feels a sleepy smile spread against his lips. A gentle hand touches his cheek as a soft moan hums deep in Aziraphale’s throat. Crowley pulls away so he could gaze into radiant sapphire. “Good morning, my beautiful angel.”

With a little stretch, Aziraphale snuggles against his husband’s warm chest. “Good morning, my love.” ‘I do so enjoy waking in your arms.’

Crowley brushes stray ringlets from his angel’s face. Smiling like the besotted fool, he was, “I got breakfast. Tea’s ready too.”

Aziraphale’s contented smile widens. ‘You are always so thoughtful. I wish we could just remain as we are.’ Aziraphale’s stomach, however, protests the thought. “Thank you, darling.” He says, leaning up for another kiss. The memories of their evening come back to him. Wondering, and hoping, his husband might be interested in repeating the events. Or perhaps he might return such attention. Then he remembers his commitment to their friends. Rearing back at his negligence, he pouts up at Crowley, “Oh, no. I told the others we would meet them for breakfast.”

“O’ready handled it. Told them you were still sleeping.” Crowley informs, taking his angel’s hand. “C’mon. Don’t want it to get tepid, now do we?”

Aziraphale pushes a loose section of hair behind his husband’s ear. Golden eyes watch him with tender affection. The flecks of gold that pepper his husband’s beautiful face seem to twinkle in the early morning light. ‘We are so fortunate. The three of us. So infinitely fortunate to be here.’ Aziraphale surges up. Needing to feel his husband’s lips against his. Crowley’s arms wrap around him, urging him closer.

Crowley only had an infinitesimal warning before warm rapturous waves of love snapped into desire. He moulded to his angel, careful of their child. Tounge seeking and finding Aziraphale’s. Soft moans echo through them. When his angel breaks the kiss, settling back into the pillows, Crowley purrs, “If you want to stay in bed and make love all day all you have to do is say so.”

Aziraphale giggles, giving his fiendish husband a quick peck. “As much as I would love nothing more, I am quite peckish. Our child demands I satiate them.”

“Right. Up you get baby baker.” Crowley says, assisting his angel up.

There is a sharp pain on either side of his hips. Aziraphale winces, though recovers quickly. Crowley freezes, scanning his expression for a hint as to what happened. Throwing back their blanket Aziraphale looks down. Purple, nearly black fingerprints are bruised into his skin. “Good lord,” Aziraphale says aloud, blinking in surprise.

Crowley sees the ghastly sight. Instantly hating himself. ‘I hurt you. Fuck! I didn’t mean to. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I won’t ever do this again.’ Smoothing his hand quickly over his angel’s hips, he banishes the marks. Delicate palms cup his cheeks, forcing him to look into concerning azure eyes. “Shit, angel. I am sorry. I didn’t mean...” Aziraphale hushes his frantic rambling with a kiss.

“It is alright Crowley.” ‘Do not do this to yourself.’ “I am neither made of glass nor upset with you. Hadn’t even noticed until just now.” Aziraphale assures his husband. Who only looked all the more guilty. “Now, about this breakfast.”

Crowley assists Aziraphale from their nest and into the soft robe and slippers. Leading his angel out onto the terrace, he holds out the chair with the best view of the ocean. Light glitters like diamond across its surface. The first thing Aziraphale takes note of is the flowers. White orchids, plumeria, vibrant bird of paradise, and jasmine. The sweet appreciative smile cast his direction was almost enough to make him forget to continually admonish himself for the bruises. Almost.

Aziraphale surveys the food. There was probably enough there for four people. Taking a chocolate-filled croissant in hand, he tears off a dainty bite. Popping it into his mouth, his eyes flutter shut, humming his appreciation for the wonderous morsel. Feeling a hand brush against his ankle, he looks down. Crowley lifts his foot into his lap, removing the slipper. Strong hands begin to work the arch of his foot. To which he moans, resting back in his chair. “That feels delightful, my love.”

“Glad you are enjoying yourself,” he says, focusing on working the knot from his angel’s foot.

Aziraphale takes his time savouring the food. Every bite was just as scrumptious as the last. When he can eat no more, he stares out over the water, sipping the herbal tea, which he was coming to appreciate. Crowley had switched to the other foot midway through his meal. Watching him all the while. Content, sated, and very much in love Aziraphale sighs, “It is so lovely here. Peaceful.”

“Yeah. Figured we could both use a...well...a break from it all. Been a bit mad recently.” He says, with a scowl, replacing his angel’s slipper and gently setting Aziraphale’s foot down. ‘Dragged you through all of that. Put you in harm’s way. Nearly lost you. Never again. That can’t ever happen again.’

“That’s putting it mildly.” Aziraphale groans, with another sip of his tea.

“Sorry, dove,” Crowley says solemnly. Staring at the floor.

“I am not blaming you, Crowley." 'And you shouldn't either.' Aziraphale stands and comes over to sit in his husband’s lap. Wrapping his arms around Crowley’s broad shoulders. "Not all of our misfortunes are your making. I have just as much, if not more, to apologize for.” When Crowley refuses to look at him, he takes his hand and places it on his belly. Golden eyes look from their child to him. An apology clear in pained eyes. “We have fought every step of the way to be where we are now. Heaven, Hell, and each other. It doesn't always have to be like that. Not between us." ‘We are on our own side.’ "I have a proposition for you."

'A proposition? You know I can't deny you anything.' "I'm listening," Crowley says, holding his family close.

"You and I have both done and said things that we shouldn't have. We have both hurt each other at one time or another. We can both be reprehensible stubborn fools. Let that be in the past. Let's both agree to forgive one another and ourselves. And when we get on each other's nerves, and we will, we separate…" He is cut off by his husband's shrill cry.

"SEPARATE?!" Crowley shouts in horror. He nearly stood except for the lap full of angel preventing him. Aziraphale recoils away in surprise. “Aziraphale I don't want to leave you. I love you. You are my world. What about Alexandria? Please don't take them from me. I know I can be a right shit at times, but I thought you were happy. I swear I never meant to hurt you.” ‘Fuck. What have I done? Fix this idiot.' "Please, Aziraphale, I will…"

Aziraphale holds up his hands, pleading his husband to calm down. "Crowley, my love, I am happy. How could I not be? You are a wonderful husband. You do all of this for me without so much as a thought for yourself. Do not deny it. I could never leave you, nor could ever take our child from you. It was a poor choice of words. I simply meant in another room of the cottage. Or just agree to both take time to calm down and then address the matter when we can both think clearly."

"Oh…" Crowley feels his panic subside. 'Yeah, probably a good idea." 'Nearly bloody discorporated me. I can't lose you or them. I'll do whatever it takes.'

"So we are both in agreement then?" Aziraphale asks, watching his husband chew on the corner of his mouth, eyes distant in thought.

"Yes, dove. F’course." Crowley agrees. Leaning in to kiss his angel, to soothe his fraying nerves as much as seal their new agreement.

"Thank you, dearest. And you are right. It is nice to get away from it all for a while."

There is a loud knock at the door. Aziraphale is reminded in an instant that there is nothing beneath his rob. Leaping from his husband’s lap, he hurries away to dress.

Crowley growls at yet another interruption and the loss of his angel’s pleasant weight in his lap. “The shells mean do not disturb!” he snarls in frustration.

“Good morning Crowley. If you don’t answer the door, I’ll just have Sera let us in.” Comes Anathema’s voice in an obnoxious sing-song tone.

“Bloody witch,” Crowley grumbles, seeing his quiet morning with his angel quickly dissolving. “Just a minute.” He calls to the irritants beyond the door, watching his angel dress. White undergarments were already on. Followed by a simple white shift dress with a floral eyelet pattern. Resting back in his chair in utter defeat, he shouts to the ceiling. “It’s open.”

The gang walk in, all in dressed in their bathing suits and thin cover-ups. Newt looked as though he were a toddler dressed by a fastidious mother not wanting her baby's delicate skin to burn. Long tropical pattern trunks with palm trees and dolphins, a t-shirt that read I Kissed A Witch and I Liked It, a wide brim fabric hat, complete with drawstring, soft tan canvas shoes, and enough white gunk on his nose to refinish the Tower of London to its former glory. Crowley scoffs at the absurdity of the get-up.

Sera was the surprise of the bunch. She, unlike the others, wore only a skimpy yellow bikini and sandals. Looking comfortable in the less than modest attire. Crowley glances at Aziraphale. It had been a feat of persuasion to get his angel to agree to the little white number in Nice. He wondered just how difficult convincing Aziraphale to wear something similar would be.

“Good morning Aziraphale,” Anathema says, ignoring the glowering former demon at the table.

“Good morning Anathema,” Aziraphale says, coming around their nest to greet them. “I am terribly sorry to have missed breakfast.”

“It’s fine. Gave us an excuse to sleep in." She says with a wave of her hand. "We have just come by to see if you two wanted to go to the main beach with us. Talked Newt into paddleboarding." She grabs her fiance by the arm. The poor boy looked less pleased about the idea than Anathema.

Crossing one leg over the other, Crowley projects his impudent regard for the invitation. "As much as I would love to see Salamander, there, flounder in the attempt. I am afraid we will have to decline. Do see yourselves out." a paper materializes in his hand to further punctuate his lack of interest.

Aziraphale tuts at his husband’s inconsiderate behaviour. "Dearest we can't invite them along then ignore them the entirety of the trip." “Honestly, you should have seen this coming.’

"Why not?" Crowley asks looking up from the Fiji Sun print in feigned confusion.

Frowning at his husband Aziraphale conveys his disapproval. ‘You can stay shut in all day if you like, my love, but I will certainly not be discourteous to our friends.’ "Anathema dear, allow me a moment to get my bathing costume on, and I will join you."

Crowley blinks in surprise from his angel to Anathema then back. Aziraphale goes to the little dresser where their clothing had been tucked away. Withdrawing the white bathing suit, his angel disappears into the bathroom. Annoyed, but not wanting to incite an argument Crowley tosses his paper over the table in his hurry to follow. Snatching his own trunks from the dresser, he watches as Anathema holds her hand out to the others. “What was the bloody bet this time?” he grouses, ducking in to join Aziraphale.

“That you’re whipped,” Anathema calls out.

“Obviously!” Crowley shouts from the bathroom.

They made it to the beach by the time the sun was at its zenith. Crowley and Aziraphale sat quite comfortably on the provided sun loungers. Yesable at their side, absorbing the midday rays. Aziraphale was engrossed in a borrowed book, sipping an alcoholess cocktail. Crowley, for his part, sat brooding in sullen silence. His plans foiled he considers the possibility of a freak storm rising up chasing everyone fleeing indoors. The one consolation he has for his forced social interaction was watching Newton struggle, and fail miserably at each attempt to remain on what he was informed was not an overstuffed surfboard. Sera was fairing well enough. She would wobble here or there, and didn’t have the ease of experience as their witch but she had yet to fall.

There was a sudden splash that drew Aziraphale’s attention away from his book. Newton had fallen again. Board and paddle floating away from the flailing young man. Flitting a cautious glance around to make sure nobody was paying them any mind he waves a flick of his hand. Miracling Newton safety back on the oddly shaped raft. “The poor dear. What is this activity called again?”

“Paddleboarding,” Crowley grumbles, glaring his annoyance over the rim of his sunglasses.

"I would rather not do this anymore," Newton calls out in a wavering whine. Clinging to the board as if there were a school of sharks circling below.

"You're doing great hun. Try kneeling first." Anathema shouts over her shoulder to her fiance.

"If I die, just know that I love you." Newt cries with his face pressed against the loathsome board.

"What is the appeal of this...paddleboarding?" Aziraphale asks, wondering if perhaps he should have miracled Newton to shore instead.

“Not falling off from what I can gather. At least it's entertaining." Crowley groans. With a dramatic flop of his head, he looks over at his angel. Pale skin already pinking in the warm Fijian sun. Whatever tale his angel was engrossed in must have been quite the read. Little pops of desire were springing up every few pages. He lets his gaze linger. Travelling up tantalizingly plump thighs to the swell of their child, up to ample breasts, and to the rosy pout cast towards Newt. ‘I just wanted one day with you. Alone.’

Movement beyond Aziraphale catches his eye. Ysabel repositioned to recline on her back. With a mischievous little smirk, Crowley pipes up, "Ysabel, how do you feel about that shining example of wit and athleticism there being your future son in law?"

Recognizing the taunt, she answers with a disinterested tone. "He makes mi amour happy. That is all that matters."

"He is a lovely boy." Aziraphale agrees, returning to one of his favourite pursuits. He had never read a work of literature quite like this one before. Though the writing quality was substandard, he found it scintillating, with some very interesting notions of lovemaking. The plot was a bit odd if anyone were to ask his opinion, but it was enjoyable enough. ‘I will have to thank Anathema. I wonder if Crowley might be interested in any of this?’ A flush rushes to his cheeks at the thought. Peering over at his husband, he considers the possibilities.

“He’s not so bad, I guess. She could do better.” Crowley says watching Sera paddle over to check on the whimpering human.

Ysabel sighs taking the bate, "You are so concerned about my daughter’s choice in partner. Tell me, Crowley, how do you feel about me dating your sister? Surely she too could do better as well?"

The pointed question caught him by surprise. Aziraphale shot him a look that warned to tread lightly. ‘Like I am some misogynistic prick that would presume to order her about?’ "Don't really care what Sera does." He grouses, folding his arms over his chest.

Ysabel sits up so she could look at her antagonist. "We both know that's not true. She told me about the conversation you two had." She informs with steely accusation in her tone.

"THAT WAS BLOODY PRIVATE SERA!" Crowley shouts to his sister. ‘See if I offer you any advice in the future. Bloody fantastic.’

Utterly confused, Sera shouts back, "WHAT?"

"Well?" Ysabel says, cooly.

"Well, whot?" Crowley barks, regretting having said anything to their midwife at all. When no response came, and it was clear she was still waiting for his answer, he groans, head listing back against the chair. "Look, Sera will do as she pleases. Never listens to me anyway."

"She does. In her own way." Ysabel assures, resting back as well. Pleased to have turned the former demon’s little sport against him.

"Ahhhuh!" Newt cries as he once again topples into the water. Legs and arms flailing, churning the water around him.

"How can someone fall while laying down?" Crowley questions with a sneer.

Not dropping the topic Ysabel continues. "I understand your concerns, Crowley."

‘You aren’t going to let this go, are you? Now I see where your daughter gets it from.’ "Do you?" he sasses with a forced incredulous tone.

"I'm mortal, and your sister is eternal. She loves me and understands what that means. One day I will die, and she will have to go on." Ysabel answers matter of factly. She watches Sera and her daughter gather up the discarded paddle and board. Newt, with his ineffective form, treads water towards them.

‘Love? You two have known each other, what, little over a month? Oh, who the bloody Hell am I to judge.’ Glancing at Sera, he sees her smiling and waving at Ysabel. When the senior witch waves back, her face shines with glee. Crowley thinks of his own blushing angel, the radiant smile he lives to see. 'Life without Aziraphale wouldn't be worth living. Humans come and go so quickly. Just hope she handles it better than I would.' "Part of it." He answers sombrely.

"Weren't you two not supposed to be together?" Ysabel challenges.

Crowley prickles at the words. 'I don't care if we weren't. I don't care who disapproves.' He looks to Aziraphale. His angel reaches out and takes his hand. Holding it firmly. Eyes seeming to reflect his thoughts back to him. 'If it hadn't been for you, angel, I don't think I could have made it this far.' "It's not the same, and you know it," Crowley responds curtly. Remembering their letter of congratulations, he says, "Besides pretty sure we were in God's plan...somehow."

"And who is to say we aren't?" Ysabel returns.

'Seems like something she would do.' "Listen I don't hate you, Ysabel. I am well aware my sister could do far worse. Your good to her."

"I love her, you know," Ysabel says with the faintest quiver in her voice.

Aziraphale beams at him at the elegant woman's admission. Caressing his angel's knuckles, he smiles. "Who am I to stand in the way of that."

"Indeed," Aziraphale adds at the close, having remained out of the tense discourse. The two seemed to need the opportunity to clarify themselves. Now that the matter was settled Aziraphale smiles warmly to their friend. "I am glad she has you Ysabel."

"Thank you, cariño," Ysabel says sweetly.

Newt came panting, dragging himself onto the safety of land. Standing on shaking gangly legs, he staggers over to an available lounge chair. Flopping down he lets out an agonizing groan. "She said it was easy."

Plucking the low hanging fruit, Crowley intones, "You know. Couple of centuries ago you would have made an exceptional fool."

"Uhg," Newt whines, allowing his body to sag limply in the chair.

Sometime later, Sera had found her way back to her human. Slipping in beside Ysabel on the one person chaise. The raven-haired beauty whispered something in her ear. Causing the Seraph to burst into a fit of laughter. When Sera was able to compose herself, Ysabel cradles her close. Sweeping a tender caress over her jaw. The words they exchange are missed by any onlookers, but the kiss that followed wasn’t. Crowley considered a light bit of jeering at his sister’s expense but decided against it in the same thought.

His pleased angel was tittering on about the book left resting on ample thighs. He absently listened, catching the parts his angel seemed most excited about. When the telling turned into heated kisses, and a lurid tryst in an elevator, Aziraphale had his full attention.

“Angel, what in Satan’s fiery bollocks have you been reading?” He asks, snatching up the book. Scanning the synopsis on the back. ‘A man tormented by his demons consumed by the need for control? This isn’t one of yours. The Hell did you even get it?’

Aziraphale took the book from his husband. Feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Oh, Anathema brought it along.” He smiled nervously. Placing his hand over the cover, he can’t meet is his husband's sun shielded gaze. ‘I am being silly. It’s only a story. We can talk about such things.’ “S-she was kind enough to allow me to borrow it. It is poorly written, let me tell you. She said she wanted to see what all the fuss was about. It is not something I would ever have chosen on my own, mind. However, I found the parts I read so far very...enlightening." Aziraphale pauses a moment, finding the needed courage for what he had been pondering for most of his read. Finding it, he leans closer, voice falling to a whisper. "Dearest, are you familiar with the concept of...bondage…” Glancing around, he makes sure none of their friends overhead. “I believe that is the term they use...in regard to intimacy? I can’t seem to wrap my head around it.”

The world around Crowley come to a halt. The word screaming a warning in his mind. “Ngk...Angel...I...uh…” 'Bondage? What in the vast wastes of Hell am I supposed to say to that? Anathema is having a go at me. Must be. No other explanation of this. What if...No Aziraphale has no idea what that is. Do you? You can’t want such a thing.’

His husband’s response was little more than a stupefied rambling. A bright blush stained from Crowley’s cheeks all the way to his chest. When nothing further was said, and his husband appeared absolutely at a loss, Aziraphale felt shame take over. ‘Good Lord, what have I said? I shouldn’t have asked. What must you think of me? Is it that awful? Perhaps Crowley is interested and doesn’t feel comfortable discussing it now. Probably it. Too public.’ “Crowley, is everything alright?”

Mind still unwilling to function properly, Crowley can only nod for a moment, sucking in his bottom lip, eyeing a little crab that scurries past. When he can force his vocal cords to work, he tries for his usual cavalier facade, falling frustratingly short. “Yup, fine. All good here, me.”

Aziraphale leans in, resting his hand on his husbands. “If you like, we could discuss the matter later. I want…” Aziraphale was cut off by a lithe voice calling to him.

“Good afternoon Mrs Crowley,” Sovaia says, having finally found her appointed guest.

“Good afternoon Sovaia, dear. Is there something I could help you with?” Aziraphale asks, tucking the book into the beach bag beside his chair.

"Mrs Crowley, I'm here to escort you to your spa appointment. When you are ready, I will show you the way." Sovaia says, standing at the ready.

At overhearing the kindly woman’s announcement, Sera nearly falls from the lounge in her rush to stand. "I'm coming too." She says, scrambling to her feet.

"Second that,” Anathema says, gathering up Newt and her’s belongings. Grabbing her fiance’s hand, she drags him to his feet. “Come on, hun."

"I've never been to a spa," Newt mutters, falling in behind Anathema all the same.

"Time to change that," Anathema says, knowing Newt would enjoy this activity far more than her previous idea.

“Can’t you all do anything on your own?” Crowley asks with a condescending sneer. Happy for the distraction off of a particular topic at any rate. He stands, assisting Aziraphale up. The woman may be there to show them the way, but he would be damned all over again if he wasn't doing the escorting.

A short trip through the jungle-like maze they come to a new bungalow. Up a stone stare, the group is ushered inside. Each shown to a private changing room. When everyone reconvenes, clad in fluffy robes, they are met by their masseuses. Aziraphale and Crowley are shown into a room, bed prepared for the expectant mother. After seeing to his angel’s comfort, Crowley bows and presses a kiss to his angel’s shoulder. "Enjoy dove. I'll be back after while to pick you up. Gotta see to something."

Aziraphale pushes off the bed, "You aren't staying?"

Crowley stoops, so his angel didn’t have to keep the awkward angle to look at him. With a quick peck, he reassures, "Just going to talk to the staff. Sera is here. Have her call me if you need anything."

"I will, my love," Aziraphale says, resting back into position. “I’ll be here.”

On his way out, he passes a generous tip to his angel’s masseuse. Making his expectations for a thoroughly satisfied wife upon his return. Exiting the spa, he heads to the main building. Inside it looks as one might expect. A tropical hotel lobby with brochures, flower arrangements, and gentleman waiting behind a reception desk. Crowley saunters over, leaning on the counter in dramatic fashion. Eyeing the human, he greets flippantly, "Yeah, hi. Like to talk with whoever about private dining arrangements."

"Yes, sir. Just a moment." The man answer, hurrying away to produce said person.

Crowley gazes around the lobby while he waits. A gift shop, off in a corner, was just begging for his perusal. Slinking off his perch, he wanders over. Local crafts and art were available. A truly impressive amount of coconuts reimagined into all manner of things. There was a large selection of carved masks, pottery, woven baskets, and sulus. Towards the back of the shop, there was an excellent selection of black pearl baubles. When he turned to leave a small section of clothing caught his eye. One garment in particular. Chewing at the corner of his mouth, he wonders what his angel might say. Before he could make a decision, the gentleman from the lobby was calling his name.

“Coming,” Crowley answers, still staring at the little white item.

Aziraphale sat with their friends. A warm cup of tea in hand. Newt and Anathema were in the middle of discussing details they had agreed upon for their upcoming nuptials. Aziraphale offered his assistance, miracles or no, to whatever they might need. Sera echoed this sentiment.

“Do you think Crowley would mind being our florist? We’d pay him of course.” Anathema asks before sipping her champagne.

“I will most certainly ask him. And there is no need to pay, dear.” Aziraphale answers. “You should see the roses I got him for Christmas. Despite all the chaos, they are exquisite. Truly a wonder. Crowley has a...what do they call it? A green pinky." Aziraphale says proudly. He lifts his tea to take a sip when lips sweep against his neck.

“Thumb, dove.” Crowley purrs into his frozen angel’s ear. Earning him a shiver and rush of desire. ‘Never gets old.’ “Green thumb.” He shot their friends an appreciative glance for not foiling his surprise entrance.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale gasps, turning, eyes wide as he finds his husband crouched behind his chair. A wicked smirk playing at the corner of his lips. ‘Ever the wily serpent.’ He beams a brilliant smile, leaning close for a kiss. His husband obliges, lingering only a moment longer than perhaps they should with an audience.

"You smell like coconuts," Crowley says, studying his angel’s beautiful smile.

"I believe it is the oils they used. Is it off-putting?" Aziraphale pouts.

"Just smell like a cake is all," Crowley says with a shrug. “Speaking of cakes.” Crowley slips around his angel’s seat to Aziraphale’s belly. “How’s our little bun? Have you been good for mummy?” A light flutter answers from within.

“I believe they slept the whole time,” Aziraphale says, allowing his husband’s hands to roam over his robe. The touch sends their child into a flurry of movement. “They are happy you are back, my love.”

“Feeling’s mutual kiddo,” Crowley says, resting his hand where he was sure he felt their little head.

“Anathema was just asking after your talents in the garden, dearest,” Aziraphale says, feeling a room full of eyes watching their tender exchange.

“I heard.” ‘Crafty witch. Going through my angel. Knowing I can’t deny you anything.’ “Got a bit of cactus somewhere you can have,” Crowley says standing taking Aziraphale’s hand. Anathema gives him a disbelieving scowl.

“Dearest?”Aziraphale pouts up at him between long lashes. 'For me?'

'Don't give me that. You know I was going to do it the second you mentioned it.' "Yes, fine. Alright. Flowers. Whatever you want."

"Thank you, dearest." Aziraphale beams his approval.

"Ready to go?" Crowley asks, offering his arm.

"Yes." Aziraphale agrees. Turning to their friends, he waves, "I'm so glad you all came with us. I can't wait for tomorrow."

'"Whot's happening tomorrow?" 'Do I get any say in my own bloody holiday?'

"Little sightseeing trip," Aziraphale says with a wiggle. "Newton was informing us of all the fascinating things about Fiji. Remarkable history." He could tell his husband was not pleased. The look he cast dear Newton was enough to make the boy shudder with fear. 'Don't be like that. I know you wanted a quiet moment to ourselves for a change. We will. That I promise you.' "Good evening, ladies. Newton." Aziraphale ushers his husband away before anything else might sour his mood.

"Don't forget the boat leaves tomorrow at nine," Anathema calls as the pair slip from the spa's exit.

They take their time walking back to the villa. Both enjoying each other's silent contented company. Upon arrival, Crowley makes sure to hang their wreath of shells, hoping to deter any would-be human interruption. For any nonhumans, he places a little additional protection, binding the door securely. 'Like to see Sera get through that.'

Dinner is presented in elegant simplicity. Tom Kha Gai, a Thai chicken and coconut noodle soup with shiitake mushrooms, coriander, chilli oil was the starting course. Mud crab, a local delicacy was bathed in garlic cream sauce over a bed of fettuccine. And for dessert the most scrumptious apple and lemon thyme tart tatin. Of which Crowley insisted on feeding his very pleased, captivating angel. Each bite earning him a grateful smile and satisfying moan. When their plates sat empty, and Crowley's lap was pleasantly full, he set a small bag in his angel's lap.

Aziraphale studies the little parcel then his husband's anticipatory smile. "Crowley I hope you know you don't have to ply my affection with gifts. I do appreciate the gesture but…" Aziraphale hadn't even realized his hands had begun worrying the bag until Crowley stopped them.

"Actually, dove, this one is more for me," Crowley says, taking back the bag. “I was wondering if you would...." he says drawing out a white bikini. Holding up for his angel to see, he continues, "try this on?"

Aziraphale frowns, taking the two garments, studying them a moment. There wasn't much to it. The top looks as though it would barely cover his breast, dependent on strings to keep it all together. 'Why in Her name?' “Crowley, I can’t wear something like this.”

“Why not?” Crowley asks, tilting his angel's head to allow him access to kiss his way down Aziraphale's neck. A little nip is given at the junction of his angel's shoulder. Quickly soothed by his tongue. "Think it will look adorable on you."

'Adorable?' “That has far less fabric than even my undergarments. I might as well go naked.” Aziraphale huffs, shoving the offending item into his husband's hand. 'Even that leather number covered more. I can not go parading around, nearly naked, even for your benefit. Pregnant as I am. What would people say?'

“I mean if that would make you more comfortable?” Crowley chuckles. 'Wouldn't mind you taking up a private nudist lifestyle. At least till Alexandria comes anyway.'

“I will not have people...gawking at me,” Aziraphale says standing, pulling robe tightly closed.

Crowley takes his angel's hand. Thumb reassuringly sweeping over Aziraphale's knuckles, “The only one who will be gawking s’me. You heard the woman. We have complete privacy here. Won’t even leave the villa. Please, dove?"

Aziraphale softens at the pleading golden gaze. 'If it is only us, I don't see the harm.' “So help me, Crowley, if anyone sees me…”

“They won’t, dove. I’ll make sure of it.” Crowley promises, lacing their fingers together. Turning his angel's arm over his kisses Aziraphale's inner wrist.

“Alright,” Aziraphale says, snatching up the bag. He gives his husband a quick peck before turning on his heels to leave.

“Where are you going?” Crowley asks in alarm.

“To change,” Aziraphale calls over his shoulder, disappearing into their bathroom.

It is a long while before he can work up the courage to return. Prior to the pregnancy, he was plump. Now he could barely see his toes for looking. 'Crowley likes my corporation. He has said as much, shown me. Nothing to be embarrassed about. It's just Crowley. Nobody else will see. He loves me.'

Aziraphale catches sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He hadn't noticed until that moment, but his stomach was streaked with thin pink lines. His sides and lower belly all marred with the unsightly marks. 'When did those appear? Has he seen them? Why did I agree to this? Crowley asked. He loves me. This is for him. ' Aziraphale sighs, forcing down his embarrassment as best he could. Stepping just past the door, he presents himself, unable to look at his long waiting husband. Clasping his hands in front of himself, he tries to conceal the marks on his abdomen. “I look ridiculous.”

Crowley could only stare for a moment. His angel's cheeks were a deep scarlet. Sapphire eyes averted. Though for the life of him, Crowley couldn't see what his angel was so ashamed of. 'You are so beautiful. How can you not see it?' “I can not begin to tell you how wrong you are.”

“I don’t see what you find so appealing about this. You’ve seen me in far less.” Aziraphale pouts looking over himself.

“Honestly?" Crowley says watching his angel fidget in the doorway. "It’s the fact that you wouldn’t do this for anyone else.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Aziraphale agrees bluntly, though still can't bring himself to look up.

“C’mere, dove,” Crowley asks with his hands outstretched. Aziraphale walks over to him, pouting the whole while. 'That only makes me want you all the more. Probably know it, you little minx.' He wraps his arms around his angel’s waist, resting his head on Aziraphale's belly. Crowley feels their little one tap against his cheek. Kneeling before his angel, he presses a reverent kiss to the ever-growing bump. Gentle fingers caressing through his hair, Crowley groans as manicured nails scrape over his scalp. "It is maddening how much I love you both." He purrs against his angel's skin.

Looking up into loving azure pools, Crowley can help but smile. 'My world, my love, my peace. Just knowing you love me would have been enough. You, here with me, us, a child. I would have never imagined this. Never have hoped for this. Do you know how bloody grateful I am? How happy you make me? God, thank you for them. Thank you for keeping them safe. Thank you for letting me have this.' Crowley kisses his angel and their child once more. His essence reaches out on its own, brushing against his angel's as he is flooded with waves of Aziraphale's loving warmth.

His husband's essence sang to him, an ancient song only their kind could produce. It spoke of the depths of Crowley's love, his devotion, of his joy and praise. Aziraphale felt his eyes prickle with the beauty of it all. Any thought of his corporation's shortcomings forgotten. He answers in kind. 'Oh, my love. We are so lucky to have you. How far we have come. All thanks to you.' "We love you too, Crowley."

Crowley rose to his full height. Pressing their foreheads together, savouring this quiet moment. The pad of this thumb swept over the little serpent coiled around his angel's finger. "You are always so beautiful Aziraphale. Never forget that." He says kissing the tip of his angel's nose. Drawing in a deep breath, he brings his thoughts back to his original plan. "Fancy a swim?"

Aziraphale laces their fingers together in response. Crowley leads them into the private pool, his worshipful gaze never leaving his angel. The sun was just beginning to set, painting the world in brilliant hues of orange, amber, plum, and magenta. It wasn't long before their leisurely dip gave way to more intimate pursuits. Crowley held his angel flush against him, their mouths tasting of each other. The tips of Aziraphale's fingers trace down the line of his spine, causing his body to shudder. Crowley bit back the urge to relieve his angel of the scant bathing suit in haste. Though his aching effort demanded he does so.

He broke their kiss, sweeping his angel's ringlets of pale shoulders. "Dove, what I am about to ask I need you to understand I only want you to agree if you are comfortable."

"I understand, Crowley," Aziraphale assures.

"Would you make love to me? Here?" Crowley asks, expecting his angel to baulk at the suggestion.

"Crowley, I don't want anyone to see us," Aziraphale says, scanning their surroundings.

"Nobody will see. I'd miracle everyone blind first." Crowley says, pleased with the appalled face his angel gives him.

"Don't you dare." Aziraphale scolds in horror. 'The bed is just over there. If this pool was indoors, I wouldn't hesitate.' "Maybe just a teensy miracle wouldn't hurt. Perhaps...perhaps just make it so should anyone come near they remember they are needed elsewhere?"

"Really?" Crowley asks in surprise. The moment his angel suggested the solution it was done with a resounding snap. Aziraphale giggles, most likely at his eagerness, hugging him all the tighter.

"Yes, my love," Aziraphale says, bringing his husband's hands to the bow at the back of his neck. Crowley keeps their eyes locked on each other as he pulls the string loose, then the one below that. His husband pulls the top free. There was no gasp of shock from the brush, no giggle of someone having caught them, no eyes glaring around the side of the villa. There was nothing but them, the sunset, and water.

Crowley's hands dipped below the surface of the pool, caressing over his angel's sides to the strings at Aziraphale's hips. With a simple nod of consents and he unbinds the last of his angel's covering. Feeling waves of desire crash into him, he sees to his own trunks in short order. Grasping his angel's hips, he lifts Aziraphale, encouraging soft legs to wrap around his waist. The water adding at making the position easy to manoeuvre. "Is this alright, dove?"

"Yes," Aziraphale whispers, feeling his husband's length graze against his aching effort. "Yes, please, my love."

Crowley claimed his angel's mouth, tongue seeking and finding entrance. His hand supports Aziraphale's lower back as he eases in his angel's warmth with a measured thrust. The moan he receives when he sheaths fully is echoed by his own. Aziraphale's legs and arousal clench around him, demanding more.

Plunging his fingers into downy ringlets, he sets a slow, steady rhythm, wanting to draw this out as long as possible. With ease, he finds his mark each time. Sending shockwaves of pleasure bursting from his angel. Aziraphale clings to him, kissing him, whispering words of love and desire on each breath.

Aziraphale feels his climax nearing. The heat pooling in his core as his husband fills him, dragging over the delicious spot again and again. His head cants back as he teeters on the razor's edge. Crowley kisses and licks his ways down his neck, teeth caressing gently. A question.

"May I, dove?" Crowley purrs low.

"Please."

Crowley bares down, teeth leaving their mark. His angel cries in his arms as Aziraphale finds release. Several thrusts later and he joins his angel. Spilling into the pulsing heat. Both gasping as they cleave to one another. He holder's Aziraphale long after his angel's body relaxes. Night was upon them. The sky above a deep violet. It was just them, the water, and his stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't asked this before, and I am not that practised with it, but would you guys ever be interested in any NSFW art? Let me know.


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